But Not For Fear

by BJ Bourg

  BUT NOT

  FOR FEAR

  A Clint Wolf Novel

  (Book 17)

  ___________________

  BY

  BJ BOURG

  www.bjbourg.com

  BUT NOT FOR FEAR

  A Clint Wolf Novel 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 © 2020 by BJ Bourg

  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 1

  Monday, August 17

  Le Diable Lake, Mechant Loup, Louisiana

  Otis Williams felt movement beside him, but he didn’t look up. He was fixated on something a dozen yards away at the edge of the lake. There was a lot going on, with at least twenty boats anchored along the shore and almost fifty college students milling around, but he was not to be distracted.

  “I thought you said this place was haunted?” asked Camille Rainey as she plopped down beside him on the red blanket. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the music that was blaring from large speakers tied to nearby tree branches. “I haven’t seen one ghost yet.”

  Otis nodded idly, barely listening to what his girlfriend was saying. He was busy studying the left thigh of Chrissy Graves. It was a shapely thigh. Nice and thick, and curvy in all the right places. But it wasn’t the thigh itself that had attracted his attention. It was the tattoo positioned high up on her thigh, near her hip. It was of a large dragon holding an American flag. Her porcelain flesh was as pure as that of an artist’s unmarked canvas, and the colors popped against the snowy background.

  “What are you staring at?” Camille asked, playfully lifting his sunglasses from his face.

  Otis batted her hand away and repositioned the glasses on his nose. “I didn’t know Chrissy had a tattoo.”

  He noticed Camille glance in Chrissy’s direction. She then fixed him with a hard stare. He could almost feel the fire from her eyes boring into the side of his face.

  “And why would you have known about that tattoo?” she demanded to know. “She has to be practically naked for anyone to see it.”

  “I don’t know.” He retrieved his beer bottle from where it had been resting on a stump several inches away, and then jumped to his feet. His eyes were still fixated on the tattoo. He stretched. The sun felt good on his bare chest. “It’s a cool-looking tattoo.”

  Camille gasped. “Since when did you start thinking tattoos were cool?”

  He tore his eyes from Chrissy’s thigh and glanced down at Camille. “Huh?”

  “Last year I wanted to get a tattoo and you called it a tramp stamp.” Camille lunged to her feet, her blonde hair blowing angrily in the wind. “Why does a tattoo look cool on Chrissy but it would be a tramp stamp on me?”

  “I don’t want to rehash this argument,” Otis said, smiling apologetically. “Let’s just forget about it. Okay?”

  “No, you never want to talk about any of our problems. You want to forget about everything, unless it’s a problem you have. If it’s your problem, then it’s everyone’s problem, but if it’s my problem, it doesn’t matter.”

  “You talk like we’re married.” Otis sighed heavily. “Look, dating is not supposed to be this difficult. It’s supposed to be fun and easy. This doesn’t feel fun and it’s definitely not easy.”

  Camille’s chin started to tremble. “What are you saying?”

  “I think we might need some time apart.”

  “Are you breaking up with me?”

  Otis broke eye contact with Camille and stole another glance at Chrissy. She was about to get on one of the jet skis. He wondered how well the sparse bikini she wore would hold up against the whipping wind. Her top could have just as well been two gun cleaning patches tied together with fishing string and her bottom was a simple triangle that was about the size of a tea bag.

  “I might go for a ride on a jet ski,” Otis said, downing the last of his beer. Arching his back, he launched the bottle high into the air. He watched as it fell and then landed with a splash in the lake. “I’m starting to sweat again.”

  Camille gasped. “Are you serious right now? You’re just going for a ride because Chrissy’s going. Aren’t you?”

  “Come on, Camille, give me a break. I just want to have a little fun before college. Is that too much to ask?”

  She stood there with her hands on her hips. After a second, she set her jaw. “Well, then, I’m coming with you.”

  “You know, you’re making me feel tied down right now and I don’t like it.”

  “Tied down?” Camille’s voice was shrill. “We’ve been dating for four years. We’re practically married. What the hell else would you call it? You think you’re not tied down?”

  He winced.

  “What?” Camille asked, apparently reading the expression on his face accurately.

  “I wish you’d stop talking about marriage. I already told you that I want to get through college before I start thinking about marriage.” He shook his head and turned to walk away from Camille. He had to dodge shirtless guys and bikini-clad gals—most of them drunk—as he padded along in his bare feet. He could feel the soft mud squirt up between his toes and he didn’t know if he liked that feeling.

  Chrissy had already mounted one of the jet skis and was trying to figure out how to start it. Otis cupped his hands to be heard over the music.

  “I can help with that, Chrissy,” he hollered when he reached the edge of the bank. “I’ve got one back home and I’m an expert.”

  Chrissy flashed a wide smile and he melted inside. Her lips were heart-shaped and covered in red lipstick.

  “Why, thank you, Otis Williams,” she drawled in her Texan accent. “After all these years of knowing you, I didn’t realize you were such a gentleman.”

  And I never realized how hot you were, Otis thought, but resisted the urge to say it out loud. “I guess you never asked—”

  Suddenly, the crowd of swaying dancers
behind Otis started whooping and hollering, drowning him out. He even heard some guys begin to howl like wolves. Chrissy looked beyond him and her mouth fell open. Curious, Otis turned to see what all the fuss was about. His own mouth fell open when he saw Camille standing in the middle of the crowd, her hands the only thing separating her ample breasts from the hungry eyes of the guys who surrounded her.

  “What are you doing?” Otis hollered, glancing angrily around. “Put your top back on!”

  Camille took a deep breath, her cheeks flushed red. Otis was about to scream at her not to do it, but it was too late. She blew the air out and lifted her hands straight into the air, allowing her full breasts to fall free for the whole world to see. Screeching, she rushed toward the lake—calling him an asshole as she ran past him—and dove right into the water.

  “Don’t do that!” a girl screamed. “There’s alligators in the water!”

  Otis rushed to the water’s edge and watched with bated breath as Camille disappeared into the black water. The music went quiet and everyone stared in frozen suspense. A few seconds later, Camille’s head broke water about twenty feet from where she had gone in. She whirled around in the water and faced the shore, a large smile spread across her face. The crowd cheered.

  Otis gritted his teeth, seething on the inside.

  “Let’s do it!” screamed another girl, ripping off her top and diving into the water. It had a domino effect on the drunken crowd. About a dozen other girls stripped off their bikinis and joined Camille in the water—and that included Chrissy, who had suddenly lost interest in him.

  “Are you coming in, asshole?” Camille hollered, flipping Otis off with both hands.

  “Damn, bro, isn’t that your girl?” asked a drunk guy filming the topless girls with his cell phone, “I don’t know what you did to piss her off, but we thank you!”

  Otis shoved the guy hard and he fell to the ground, dropping his phone. Otis snatched it up and flung it into the lake. The drunk guy began cursing loudly, but he stayed on the ground, not daring to challenge Otis.

  Otis splashed through the shallow water of the lake and jumped onto the nearest jet ski. He inserted the key and fired it up. He was growing angrier by the second as he watched a trio of guys swimming toward Camille. He recognized them as football players and he knew one of them was a real prick. Camille was about a hundred feet from the shore now and treading water. They were closing in on her fast.

  Hitting the throttle, Otis went wide around a group of topless girls and headed toward Camille, intent on cutting off the three lustful jocks who were still heading in her direction. He hadn’t traveled fifty feet when Camille suddenly went under the water. He revved the engine and rode past the three jocks. He then swerved so that he was between them and Camille’s location. He eased off of the throttle, standing in the saddle so he could figure out where she was heading next.

  “Dude, what the hell are you doing? Trying to run us over?”

  Otis turned and saw that the three jocks had stopped swimming and were now staring at him, visibly angry. He ignored them and looked back to where Camille was supposed to be. She wasn’t there.

  “Where’d she go?” He shut off the engine and allowed the jet ski to rock with the waves he’d created. “Camille!” he hollered, scanning the surface of the water. Other than a few plastic bottles, a piece of Styrofoam, and a potato chip wrapper floating on the water, there was no sign anyone had ever been here. “Where are you? Come on, stop screwing around. Camille, where are—?”

  “Get out of the water!” someone screamed from the shore, cutting Otis off. “Alligator!”

  Otis whirled around and scanned the water. There were several alligators swimming toward the college students, who were scrambling to reverse course and head back to shore. The three jocks were cut off from the shore by the alligators. One of them began wailing and saying he didn’t want to die. After scanning the water around him one last time and not seeing Camille, Otis fired up the engine and headed straight for the alligators.

  The crowd cheered as the alligators splashed violently and disappeared under water. Otis then began driving back and forth along the shore. The jet ski bounced in the choppy water as he searched frantically for Camille. Water sprayed his face. While it helped to cool him, it also interfered with his vision and he had to constantly wipe his blurry eyes.

  The party goers had all scrambled back onto solid ground and the girls had covered up. They were now all screaming Camille’s name as they stood helplessly on the shore.

  “Call 911!” Otis hollered, growing more and more desperate. “We need help!”

  “There’s no service!” someone called back.

  Otis’ heart fell. He remembered trying to use his cell phone last night and not having reception. It had been at least ten minutes since he’d last seen Camille and he knew there was no way she could have survived under water that long. Guilt flooded over him. He shut off the engine and plopped down in the seat and cried.

  CHAPTER 2

  “I know we need the money that tourism brings to the town,” said an elderly man wearing faded overalls and white shrimper boots. He adjusted the microphone on the lectern slightly and continued, scanning the faces of the town council members as he spoke. “But does that mean we need to let them destroy our land? I say if they can’t respect our land, they can’t use it. Period!”

  The room erupted in cheers. I scanned the crowd from my seat centered at the back of the room. Although I was wearing plain clothes, I wasn’t hiding from anyone. I was well known in our little town of Mechant Loup, Louisiana. A complete stranger when I first came to town as the chief of police six years ago, I hadn’t wasted any time getting acquainted with the folks here. A lot had happened over the years and I had left the job for a brief period, only to return as the chief of detectives. However, I didn’t use the title, because until recently, I had been the only detective in town.

  Susan Wolf, my wife and the current chief of police, was seated to my left. Melvin Saltzman, who Susan had recently promoted to Lieutenant, was seated to my right. Amy Cooke, who worked with me as a detective, was sitting amongst the attendees. Mayor Pauline Cain had expected a raucous crowd tonight and she’d wanted us on hand in case fights broke out.

  The meeting had been going on for two hours and, so far, everything had been civil. The speakers were passionate and loud, for sure, but civil.

  “I used to be able to ride from the boat launch all the way to Le Diable Lake and never see so much as a single piece of trash,” the man complained in his thick Cajun accent. “Now, there’s beer bottles, candy wrappers, plastic cups, and Coke cans everywhere. I even pulled an old ice chest out of the water last time I went out to check my alligator lines. These kids don’t respect our land. They party like they’re at the beach. I saw one girl’s boobs the other day. She was all but naked, swinging from a rope on a tree. How long we gonna have to put up with this shit? Again, I say if they can’t respect our land, then they can’t use it!”

  He was starting to repeat himself, so Mayor Cain leaned forward and activated her microphone.

  “I understand your frustration, Mr. Burke,” said the mayor. “We’re working as hard as we can to keep these teenagers under control. The police department will be beefing up water patrols during the summer months. They have always strictly enforced the littering ordinance and they will continue to do so, but they’re also busy with more serious crimes.”

  “Littering is serious,” the man interrupted. “It’s gonna destroy our way of life.”

  There was a chorus of agreement from the crowd.

  “That’s why there’s an amendment to the littering ordinance on the agenda for tonight.” Mayor Cain paused and indicated the council members to her left and right. “I’ve met with each of the council members throughout the day and they’ve assured me they’re going to pass that amendment. First offense fines will double to $300, second offense to $500, and third offense to $1000. If that doesn’t get their
attention, we’ll increase it even more.”

  The crowd cheered, but there were still some who weren’t satisfied.

  “What about those of us who live on the lakes?” piped up a man from the front of the room. “We can’t get no sleep, thanks to them blaring music at all hours of the night. And they race boats and jet skis up and down the lake. They almost hit my sons when they were checking their catfish lines last month. I swear, I’ll shoot any bastard who hurts one of my kids.”

  “Me, too!” hollered a woman from the far side of the room. “I keep my shotgun loaded for them!”

  Shaking her head, Susan stood and approached the microphone. Pauline Cain looked relieved. Turning to address the crowd, my beautiful wife smiled that crooked smile of hers that could disarm anyone. She was a sight to behold. Her khaki polyester uniform shirt and green BDU pants fit snugly, but were loose enough to allow her to move around if she had to fight. Her dark brown hair was braided into corn rows, which gave the appearance that she was ready to scrap if need be.

  “How many of you are willing to pay higher taxes so we can hire four additional officers to patrol the lakes fulltime in search of speeding boats and litterbugs?”

  The room suddenly turned quiet, except for a grumble or two.

  “I didn’t think so.” She scanned the room with her piercing brown eyes, no doubt seeking out the ones who had been the most vocal during the meeting. “Well, how about this—how about some of you join our auxiliary force? You would be commissioned as volunteer police officers and, after a little training, you would be able to patrol the waterways and write tickets for littering and speeding, and other minor infractions.”

  The room was still silent.

  “That’s what I thought.” Susan sighed heavily and shook her head. “Look, it’s easy to show up at these meetings once a month and voice your frustrations to the council, but the town doesn’t belong to them—it belongs to all of us. If we’re not willing to become part of the solution, then maybe we shouldn’t bitch so much.”