Charmed and Dangerous (15 page)

“You okay?” he asked.

“Mmmm hmmm.” She didn’t trust herself to answer.

“Next date,” he whispered, “it’s my turn to pick the venue.”

She chuckled into his shoulder. Damn. A really good-looking, sexy man who could make her laugh in the middle of a disaster . . . well, that sealed it. He had to be Satan incarnate, or doomed, given her luck with men. At least, she noticed, the helicopters had veered away from them. Maybe all of this was going to work.

Ce Ce stared at the TV, watching how the various helicopters (there were three news helicopters now) along with the state police and the FBI had all congregated near the bridge, as if they’d spotted Bobbie Faye. The excitement in the shop was palpable and the nervous energy seemed to radiate off the walls and reflect in the dozens and dozens of crystals displayed everywhere, magnifying the negativity.

She had to do something about that. She needed something to redirect that energy. She nodded to Monique, who nodded back and then ducked behind the counter, heading to one of the back rooms as Ce Ce ripped into cartons of crystals stacked in every available space in the shop.

As Ce Ce surveyed the big crowd, she sighed relief. This much energy, surely, would make a difference. It had to. Now it was just up to her to channel it. She clapped, and Monique carried out a bowl of ashy mixture which Ce Ce had started concocting earlier, only now it smelled oddly of garlic and blood and liver and burnt sage.

“We’ve got work to do,” Ce Ce announced to the crowd, and she started handing out crystals, giving instructions while Monique dribbled some of the ashy mixture around the room.

As Trevor and Bobbie Faye continued walking upstream, Bobbie Faye couldn’t pull her gaze from the reptiles; they seemed restless and somehow appeared cocked, as if ready to leap into the water. They should be shying away. And she should be able to think, damnit.

She glanced around at the absolute stillness of the bayou, noting that the baying of the hounds seemed to be moving away from them. There was no breeze, no movement, just stark, green stillness.

Green. Lush, deep, fresh
emeralds
and
olives
and
jades
and
sages
saturating every tree, every grass. Rich, ripe greens.

Oh. Fuck.

“It’s the end of April,” she whispered, realizing, finally, what it was she’d forgotten.

“Yeah?”

“The only time an alligator is aggressive is when it’s a female and someone gets near its eggs. And
now
is usually the time when the eggs are hatching.”

“Sonofabitch, stupid fucking moron.”

“Hey! I’m sorry, dammit. I didn’t mean to forget.”

“I was talking about myself,” he said, as they turned toward the bank. “I should have thought of that already.”

She couldn’t help but gape a little at his profile as they climbed out of the water, onto the bank.

An assessor in our office once suggested that the world needed a “Murphy’s Law” for anything Bobbie Faye–related. Then a building immediately fell on him.

—Kathy Mackel, analyst for the LA Office of Statistical Measurements

They stood together on the bank. The alligators seemed to have taken no notice of them, and Bobbie Faye wasn’t sure what had stunned her more: that there wasn’t a catastrophe with the alligators or that Trevor had blamed himself, and not her. She couldn’t remember the last time something crazy had happened and the guy nearest her hadn’t assumed it was her fault. That was just a world of weirdness, right there. Maybe she could get the address for whatever planet he lived on and manage a visit.

Trevor consulted a compass built into his fancy diver’s watch and adjusted their course. They had taken about twenty steps when there was an awful huffing, snuffling sound, and then an outraged, guttural bellow, a battle cry. Bobbie Faye saw the black bear first, not nearly far enough away, and she spun, and sure enough, on the other side of them, bear cubs. Which is precisely when the mama bear charged, closing the gap faster than anyone would have believed.

Cam navigated his way through the gray cinderblock police station, every room painted industrial boring, and not an extra dime spent on passably comfortable. He wove through noisy, teeming, cramped rooms, encountering way more cops than should have been on duty. He knew half of them had volunteered to come in for crowd control and, very likely, to place side bets on just how big a disaster this was going to be. Everyone rubbed up against everyone else; he figured it would be a damned wonder if they didn’t need pregnancy tests before it was all over and done.

He flipped through the robber’s file on his way to interrogation, glancing at the man’s pale, wormy mug shots. Professor Fred looked like the kind of man who slathered on SPF 30 just to walk to his car, not like the kind of guy who woke up one morning and decided to rob a bank.

Cam pushed through the metal door to the observation portion of the dingy interrogation room and nodded to the Captain, a wide, beefy man whose ruddy complexion was heightened by the six-pack of cheap beer he downed every night in front of the TV.

“I knew you’d be headed in when you heard,” the Captain said, nodding toward the one-way observation window into the interrogation room. Cam glanced through to the exceptionally massive man sitting next to the Professor, who was now in the jailhouse orange jumpsuit. For a moment, Cam imagined them as a giant mastiff hound spread out next to a quivering, hunched, teacup Chihuahua, only this mastiff had double the jowls and wore a five-thousand-dollar suit and enough diamonds to rival a Tiffany window.

“I love it when they make mistakes,” Cam said, as much to himself as to the Captain. The Captain hmphed, which was pretty much his trademark response.

“Good luck with that. You know how clamped Dellago can get,” the Captain said. “I think ol’ Fred was about to spill everything, but now we’ll be lucky if we don’t have to mop piss up off the floor in there.”

“Did he call Dellago?”

“Nope. Said he didn’t have an attorney, then Dellago
showed up. Had to have been called by someone besides Fred there as soon as the robbery happened to have gotten here from New Orleans this fast.”

Cam entered the interrogation room. Dellago squinted his puffy eyes at Cam, though Cam didn’t bother to glance his direction. He knew that barely veiled disgusted expression; Dellago was hoping to draw someone less experienced he could mince and eat for lunch. The attorney subtly moved in his seat, a rare “tell.” The man was switching gears.

“Slumming it, Dellago?” Cam asked, still skimming through the Professor’s file.

“Hardly, Detective. As you will have undoubtedly discovered, my client is a highly regarded professor with no priors and an impeccable reputation—exactly the kind of client a defense attorney would be proud to represent.”

“So, then, all of your previous clients, you know, the ones you pled down in various organized crime cases . . . they weren’t the ideal clients, I suppose.”

“I fail to see the relevance of this line of questioning, Detective. I was under the impression by your superiors that a deal may be on the table.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s of no relevance at all,” Cam said, beaming toward the Professor. “I mean, why shouldn’t a first-time offender hire the best attorney reputed to represent the top tier of alleged organized crime figures, especially if he can afford him.” Cam flipped through the file. “Oh, wait! That’s because a professor of antiquities at LSU makes less than forty thousand a year and can’t afford something so extravagant. I’m sure Dellago’s fee is double that, right Professor?” The Professor gulped, but didn’t answer. “Interesting.”

Dellago started to respond, his face reddening ever so slightly, but Cam plowed on.

“So, Professor, you had a busy morning.” The little man flinched, clamped his lips closed, and stared at his clasped hands.

“My client,” Dellago boomed, his deep voice reverberating off the walls, “is prepared to testify against Ms. Sumrall in exchange for reduction to misdemeanor theft.”

“Is he now?” Cam leaned back in his chair, an amused grin playing at the corners of his eyes. “Well, that’s mighty helpful of him, seeing how he’s the one who had the gun, the fake dynamite, and initiated the theft of several thousand dollars.”

“Your governor, however, wants Ms. Sumrall behind bars, where she can’t keep destroying the state,” Dellago said, his tiny slitty eyes boring a stare into Cam. “I can deliver the information you need to put her away. For life.”

Your Honor,
you
try remembering how to manage your anger after you’ve had Bobbie Faye for a client.

—former anger management counselor now up on destruction of property charges

“Just when in the hell did Louisiana get black bears?” Trevor muttered as they fled through brambles, over logs, with the mama bear steaming toward them, gaining on them fast.

“It’s not like
I
invited them!” Bobbie Faye pushed herself to run faster. Everything inside her burned. Her energy . . . chewed and broken. She couldn’t keep going. A black bear could run close to thirty miles per hour in quick spurts, and that’s all this one was going to need. If she stopped, the bear would be on them. Trevor looked determined to hang back for her; she was going to get them both killed.

Then she saw what she needed.

“Run flat out,” she told him through ragged breaths. “Leave me.” And when he turned to argue, she said, “Just trust me.” She veered from his path and as she expected, the bear paused for a moment, and given the choice between two preys, chose the slower.

She could feel the ground vibrating as the three-hundred-pound bear thundered behind her; its guttural roars pulsed
through her skin and ricocheted in her racing heart. Bobbie Faye aimed at what she hoped would save her: a fallen tree which had wedged between two other trees. It slanted at a forty-five degree angle to the ground, and her boots grabbed traction on the rough bark as she raced up the incline, grabbing broken limbs for balance.

The mama bear followed, clawing into the semi rotten wood, shaking the tree in its tenuous lodging in the fork of the other trees, and she knew if they fell, the bear would recover faster. She felt the whoosh of air as the bear swiped behind her just as she launched toward massive clusters of violet flowers and snagged thick wisteria vines dangling from one of the upright trees and she swung away from the furious bear.

See, she had a plan.

Bobbie Faye should have known she wasn’t the planny type by now; she intended to grab the nearby limbs of the other tree, and hop down from it, confusing the bear long enough for her own escape. She was far too high up to just drop to the ground and she was afraid she’d lose her grip if she tried to climb down the vine. A simple snag and leap to the next tree was the ticket. She swung on the vine toward the neighboring tree and tried to grab a limb.

She missed.

Which meant she was swinging back toward the tree. Straight toward the bear’s massive claws. She was going to make the Darwin list of the stupidest ways idiots managed to take themselves out of the gene pool. The jaws loomed closer: ugly yellow teeth, blasting rotting breath, and there was something she didn’t even want to think about snagged on its incisors. The bear roared, jaws wide as her momentum swung her closer. Right for its jagged teeth.

Dellago leaned forward, a smile simpering in his pursed lips. “I’ve recently had a conversation with our fair governor and he’s assured me that you are to cooperate and plead my client out in exchange for that information. Or,” Dellago
grinned his slimy, little smile, “aren’t you important enough to be in on the loop? Perhaps I should speak to your Captain?”

Cam kept a poker face. He knew Dellago probably had as thick a file on him as he had on Dellago. Instead, Cam shrugged. “I don’t know of many people who’ve managed to hold onto Ms. Sumrall and lived to tell about it,” he said. “I’m not entirely sure we’d like to be the first to try.”

“My client can testify as to how Ms. Sumrall planned this heist and forced him to comply,” Dellago continued, his gaze never leaving Cam’s face. “You’ll have her dead to rights to do with as you want. In exchange, these charges will be reduced and my client will be released immediately.”

Cam casually propped his chin in his hand and watched the Professor, who was shaking so blatantly, Cam wondered if he’d vibrate clean out of his loose, pale skin.

“Uh, free?” the Professor asked. “You mean, today? Now?” He looked at Cam. “With—with, uh, with him?” He nodded toward Dellago, who could not have looked more unhappy with his client if he tried.

“Yes. With him. If the D.A. agrees.”

“And it would be a wise move, Professor,” Dellago intoned in the man’s ear, “to heed my advice in this matter. A very wise move.”

Cam thought the Professor was turning an actual shade of green.

“But . . . but . . . I’m guilty,” he said, leaning toward Cam, a pleading expression overwhelming his trembling features. “I should pay. I’d be happy to pay. Really.”

“Nonsense. You have evidence they need,” Dellago said, and Cam noted the sinking, grim resignation in the Professor’s eyes.