But Not Forsaken: A Clint Wolf Novel (Clint Wolf Mystery Series Book 3)

by BJ Bourg

  BUT NOT

  FORSAKEN

  A Clint Wolf Novel

  (Book 3)

  ___________________

  BY

  BJ BOURG

  www.bjbourg.com

  BUT NOT FORSAKEN

  A Clint Wolf Novel (Book 3) 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: 978-1-53939-621-5

  ISBN-10: 1539396215

  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 57

  CHAPTER 1

  20 years earlier…

  Monday, July 24

  Chateau Parish, Louisiana

  Jolene giggled as she crawled from the back of her white 1995 Escalade and dropped her bare feet to the ground. Although it was nearly ten o’clock in the evening, the dirt was still warm from the heat of the day.

  “Get back in here,” her boyfriend called, reaching for her arm, but missing.

  Screeching, Jolene hurried around to the front of the SUV, where the headlights lit up the cane fields in front of them. She stopped in the direct glow of the lights and smiled coyly. Lifting her arms to the sky, she stood with her eyes closed, allowing the light to wash across her pale body. She made no attempt to cover her breasts or her genital area. “God, you make me feel so free!”

  She screeched again when she heard her boyfriend running toward her. She opened her eyes just in time to see him wrap his arms around her nude body and gently tackle her to the ground. They fell into a patch of soft grass and her laughter was cut short by his strong mouth on hers. She moaned as they kissed. When their lips separated, she looked up into his troubled eyes. “What’s wrong, honey?”

  He frowned, rolled off of her, and sat on the ground to her right. “It’s nothing.”

  Jolene recognized that look. “It is something. I can tell.” She sat up and leaned her soft breasts against his hard back, her mouth brushing the back of his ear. “You promised to never keep anything from me.”

  He sighed. “I know. It’s just that…”

  She waited for him to finish, but he didn’t. “What is it, sweetie?”

  “I hate that you’re married.”

  “I hate it, too.” She wrapped her arms around him and kissed the back of his neck. “If I can help it, I won’t be married for long.”

  He pulled her arms away and stood. “That’s what you said two months ago.”

  “Well, these things take time. Divorces are never easy, you know.” She pulled herself to her feet and returned to the back of the Escalade. While her boyfriend sulked, she began pulling on her clothes. “I have to get back home.”

  “The bastard’s at a conference—why do you need to hurry home?” He scowled. “You’re always running off, even when he’s not around. Sometimes I think you’ve got a number two on the side.”

  Jolene clipped her black bra in place and turned to face him, pulling at her breasts to make them comfortable in the cups. “After all we’ve been through I can’t believe you’d even suggest that. You know I love you.”

  He was thoughtful, but said nothing. Jolene stepped forward and hugged him, repeating that she loved him. He sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. But why do you have to leave? I thought we’d be able to spend all kinds of time together when he was gone.”

  “Knowing him, he’ll call the house to make sure I’m home.” She shrugged into her red camisole and slipped her sandals on. “And if I don’t answer, he’ll have someone drive by the house to check on me.”

  Her boyfriend’s shoulders drooped, but he nodded his understanding. “Okay. Will I see you tomorrow?”

  She smiled. “Of course, you will.” After kissing him one last time, she jumped into the Escalade and waved as he entered his pickup truck. As was their custom, he followed her along the bumpy cane field road and then most of the way home to be sure she made it safely. He flashed his headlights when he reached the bridge that marked his turnoff, and she responded with two taps of the brake. She smiled as she watched him wave his arm out of the truck. It was nice to have someone want her so much. All her husband cared about was his career and his image. He wanted the perfect house, the perfect cars, the perfect wife, the perfect family. She grunted. It would be a cold summer day in Louisiana before she gave him a child.

  When Jolene got home thirty minutes later, she hurried up the sidewalk and rushed through the front door, checking the telephone to see if her husband had called. She sighed when there were no missed calls. She’d spoken with him right before she left to meet her boyfriend and had told him she was going into the shower. That would’ve bought her at least an hour and a half—he knew how she loved long baths.

  Jolene glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost eleven now. Her husband probably thought she was in bed and wouldn’t bother her again tonight.

  Still feeling weak from the orgasm she’d had earlier, she kicked off her shoes and walked on shaky legs to her bedroom. The blue plush carpet felt good on the bottoms of her feet. The bedroom was dark except for a night light in a corner outlet. Squinting to see better, she grabbed a set of night clothes from the top drawer in her mahogany dresser and placed them on the counter in the master bathroom. After lighting two candles and turning on the faucet in the Jacuzzi tub, she unbuttoned her jeans and started to push them—

  “What the hell was that?” Jolene froze in place, trying to place the noise. It sounded as though something had fallen and she thought it came from the kitchen, but she couldn’t be sure. Buttoning her jeans back, she took a cautious step toward her bedr
oom door and listened. Nothing. The hallway light was off, too. Should I turn it on? She decided against it. She was no tactical expert, but she was smart enough to know a light would only give away her location. Moving on the balls of her feet, she slowly made her way toward the end of the hall. She stopped a few feet from where it opened into the kitchen and waited. Still nothing.

  Her heart pounded in her chest. Not knowing what to expect, she peeked around the wall and stared wide-eyed. She sighed when she realized the kitchen was empty. The refrigerator blocked her view of the back door, so she stepped into the kitchen just to make sure the knob was locked. As she rounded the corner, she stepped on something sharp.

  “Ouch!” She leaned on the counter and lifted her foot. There was a small shard of glass protruding from a spot on her heel and a single drop of blood spilled from it. Pulling the piece of glass from her foot, she glanced at the floor and her heart stopped beating for a moment—broken glass littered the floor.

  Jolene’s eyes shot toward the door and she gasped when she saw that the window pane closest to the knob was busted. But that was nothing compared to the sheer terror that shocked her to her core when she saw a gloved hand reach through the broken window and grab the doorknob.

  She smothered a scream in her throat and bolted for the bedroom, panic enveloping her every fiber. She had almost made it to the master bathroom door when something smacked her in back of the head and she collapsed on the carpeted floor. Her head pounded, but she pulled herself to her hands and knees and started crawling like a woman possessed, her fingernails clawing at the carpet. Diving forward the last few feet, she cleared the bathroom door and rolled to her back to kick it shut. Just before it slammed shut, she saw a shadowy figure reaching for the knob.

  Jolene screamed and scrambled to her feet. With shaky hands, she desperately tried to twist the lock on the knob, but it was no use. The figure turned it and crashed it open, sending her flying backward. She landed hard against the side of the tub, and one of the candles sizzled out as it plopped into the bath water.

  Her attacker stepped through the doorway and grabbed her ankles in a vice-like grip. She twisted onto her stomach and clutched at the ledge of the tub, but the person jerked her away and dragged her on her belly toward the bedroom. Her camisole rolled up high on her stomach as the attacker dragged her across the carpeted floor. When they reached the center of the dark bedroom, the person flipped her onto her back and straddled her. Her attacker’s weight made it difficult for her to breathe and the face was covered by a makeshift mask and there was a large knife in the person’s hand. Light from the one remaining candle glinted eerily off the blade. Tears flowed freely down her face now and she was trembling uncontrollably.

  “Why? Oh, God! Why are you doing this?” she cried, trying to push her camisole down. “Please don’t hurt me!”

  Her attacker was breathing heavy and stared down at her. Setting the knife down on the floor, her attacker wrapped both hands around her throat and slowly applied pressure, as though enjoying the moment.

  “No!” Jolene screamed, pushing at the person’s hands. “Don’t! Please don’t!”

  The attacker continued to squeeze and she felt her eyes bulge in their sockets as pressure filled her face. She kicked and squirmed, clawing at the gloved hands as best she could. Suddenly, her attacker drew a fist back and slammed it into her breast. She cried out in pain, but continued struggling to stop the person from choking her. The attacker struck her again, this time in the stomach, knocking the wind from her lungs. She gasped for air, pawing weakly at the sleeve on the person’s shirt. “No,” she wailed, tears causing her eyes to blur. “Please don’t hurt me!”

  The attacker returned to choking her and, in one desperate attempt to save herself, she leaned forward and punched the person on the side of the head. She immediately regretted it, because her hand stung and it only seemed to anger the person. Releasing the hold on her throat, the attacker leaned up and dropped one knee on her chest, crushing her. The attacker then grabbed a handful of hair with one hand and wrenched her head against a leg, exposing the opposite side of her neck. Groaning in anger, the attacker snatched up the knife with the opposite hand and placed the sharp point against the outside of her larynx.

  Jolene screamed as the attacker shoved the knife into her flesh and through to the other side of her neck. Her eyes widened in disbelief and shock as she began gargling and struggling for air. She was fading fast, but aware enough to know she was drowning in her own blood.

  CHAPTER 2

  Twenty years later…

  Monday, October 26

  Susan Wilson’s House – Mechant Loup, Louisiana

  Susan Wilson moved lightly on the balls of her feet, circling the red punching bag like a mountain lion ready to pounce. She was a sergeant with the Mechant Loup Police Department by day, but at night she moonlighted as a cage fighter. Given a choice, she would choose fighting over police work any day of the week, and that probably had a lot to do with the fact that her dad had been a professional boxer when he was alive.

  As Susan moved, the wooden porch creaked under her weight, but it provided just the right amount of bounce and the surface was just rough enough against her feet to replicate the canvas of a fighting cage. Her pink mixed martial arts gloves were worn from years of training, but she refused to replace them because they felt like a natural part of her hands. She kept them held high, ready to block any blows from her imaginary opponent.

  Her brown hair was braided into cornrows and tied off into twin pigtails behind her head. She knew it wasn’t the most attractive hairstyle—her mom had informed her of that fact more than a dozen times over the years—but it was practical. The sun was setting to the east over the swamps and there was a hint of coolness on the evening breeze—a sign that autumn was around the corner. While she had a lot to worry about, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as the wind caressed her face. She felt wild and free, training in the open air of her front porch. If I just focus on staying in this moment, she thought, I can make it last forever.

  Long, tanned legs flexed under her fight shorts as she moved to the left, and then to the right, eyeing the bag with bad intentions. Without warning, she suddenly sprang forward and executed a violent combination of kicks and right punches that made the bag bend and swing under the impact of the blows. The chain that held the bag from the ceiling rattled its protest, but droned to a low creak as she circled away, looking for another opening in her imaginary opponent.

  She’d been training for an hour and had managed to avoid throwing strikes with her left hand—despite how tempting it was. It was second nature for her to follow a straight right punch with a left hook, but she wanted the wound on her chest to heal so she could get back in the cage sooner, rather than later. She wasn’t sure if that’s what the doctor meant by “taking it easy”, but she thought it was a hell of a compromise, because lying around and doing nothing was not an option.

  Susan was about to explode into another combination when her cell phone rang. She thought about ignoring it, but then figured it might be work-related, so she ripped off her right glove and snatched the phone from the yellow bench against the wall. She glanced at the number and saw that it was Melvin Saltzman, one of her fellow officers.

  “If you’re not calling to offer up your body to the sweet science of me kicking your ass, then it had better be an emergency,” she said. “I was fifteen rounds into a twenty-round workout and you know how much I hate to be interrupted.”

  Melvin stammered on the other end and finally managed an apology.

  Susan laughed. “I’m kidding. What’s up?”

  Melvin was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, she could tell he was troubled. “I know it’s been a week, and all, but this thing with William still has me freaked out.”

  Susan sighed and sat on the bench, tugging her other glove off in the process. “Yeah. Me, too.”

  “I never saw it coming.”

  “None of
us did, Melvin…none of us.”

  “If he can go bad…”

  When Melvin didn’t speak again for several seconds, Susan asked if he was still there.

  “I’m here.” After another pause, Melvin finally said, “If he can go bad, what’s to keep me from going bad?”

  Susan laughed. “Trust me, there’s nothing bad about you.”

  “No, I’m serious. Beaver seemed like a good cop, but then he went and did what he did, and now William. What if I’m next?”

  “Look, we might not have known they were bad, but they did…in their heart of hearts, they knew they were bad.”

  That seemed to satisfy Melvin and he turned the subject to work. “Do you miss me on the day shift?”

  He was working the night shift with Amy Cooke, filling the spot that had been vacated by William Tucker’s arrest. “Not one bit.”

  “I bet Chief Wolf misses me.”

  “Nope, Clint was telling me just today that he’s glad…”

  The humming of a car engine drew Susan’s attention to the street that led to her house. It was a Chateau Parish Sheriff’s Office patrol cruiser and it was followed by a state police car. There were two deputies in the patrol cruiser and one trooper inside the state car. They turned onto her dirt driveway and drove right up to the house, the three officers staring intently at her as they approached.

  Melvin was still talking in Susan’s ear, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. She stood slowly to her feet as the deputies stepped out of the cruiser and strode toward her porch steps. The trooper remained seated in his car, which aroused her curiosity.

  “Can I help you?” Susan asked, as dread started to fill her throat with bile. Was it her mom? Had she been in a car accident? If so, why wasn’t the trooper getting out of his car?

  Melvin stopped rambling and asked what was going on.

  One of the deputies cleared his throat. “Sergeant Wilson…um…I don’t know how to say this in an easy way, so I’ll just cut to it. District Attorney Bill Hedd just called and informed our office that you’ve been indicted by the grand jury for second degree murder. He ordered us to take you into custody immediately.”