Waters Run Deep Page 9

  The one person he hadn’t spoken to in-depth was Annie. Since their odd exchange in the library, he’d avoided questioning her on her background and on her impressions of the Keene family. Maybe because he was afraid of the desire that uncoiled when he was around her.

  Damn it. She was a suspect. A viable one. She’d been hired around the time of the threat and he knew she was a liar.

  So why hadn’t he already done his job?

  He’d find out that afternoon, as soon as he finished the reports on those he’d taken statements from that morning. Time to interview the nanny.

  He stared down at the forms and then shoved them toward where his cold coffee sat.

  “You going to the Stumpwater Inn tonight?” Kelli asked, propping a hip on his metal desk.

  “Is there ever a good reason to go there?”

  The flirty detective ran a long red fingernail on top of the only photo sitting on his desk—the softball league championship pic—and gave him a barracuda smile. “There is tonight.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “What?” she said.

  “You’re eight months pregnant. You can’t go to the Stump.”

  Kelli raised a perfectly waxed eyebrow. “So? What are you saying? I’m not hot enough for action down there?”

  Nate shook his head, picked up the hand still tapping the photo and bestowed a gentlemanly kiss. “Never.”

  “Hey,” Wynn said, “get your lips off my wife.”

  “Get your wife off my desk.”

  Wynn’s mouth twisted into a grin. “I couldn’t pick her up if I tried.”

  Kelli lifted a half-full coffee mug. “You wanna say that again, big boy?”

  Wynn strolled over and took the coffee mug from his wife’s hand. “I couldn’t pick you up if—”

  A quick kiss silenced him.

  “Ugh, we’re in the office,” Nate complained, rolling his chair back.

  Wynn broke off the tame kiss and smiled sweetly at his very rounded wife. She grinned back, before smoothing her maternity uniform shirt over her growing belly. “At least there’s no chance of knocking her up.”

  “You hit it the first time, didn’t you, sugar?” Kelli giggled. They’d been married for less than a year, so Nate let their inappropriate behavior slide, but soon he’d have to tell them to knock it off. Kelli redirected her attention back to him. “So, I’m trying to get Nate to go down to Gerry’s Lounge at the Stumpwater. David Reneau and the Murky Water Boys are playing tonight, and I hear a lot of the Magic Man crew will be there. Might get lucky, Nate.”

  Nate shook his head. “The only lucky I want is a break in this case. Blaine’s on my back, and he ain’t easy to carry around.”

  “I meant on the case,” Kelli said, allowing her voice to drop down to serious business mode. Under her artfully streaked blond hair, stacked bod and big mouth beat the heart of a talented investigator. “Liquor loosens lips.”

  “Among other things,” Wynn sniped.

  Nate glanced up. “I’d rather put on a dress and heels and stroll down Main Street than go to Gerry’s tonight.”

  Kelli got that look, the one married women got around their husband’s single friends. “You need to go. Not just for the case, but for social reasons. You need a woman in your life. You can’t remain an island forever. A sexless island, cold, hard and lonely when the sun sets.”

  “Has she been reading poetry again or just listening to Simon and Garfunkel?” Nate rose and shuffled papers into one of the accordion files. He’d come in early tomorrow to complete the report and then get a summary to Blaine before noon. Not that there’d be much to summarize. He needed to catch a break. Soon. Before another threat. Or worse.

  “Kelli’s right, you know. You should go.”

  Kelli smiled and latched an arm through her husband’s. “I love when you say I’m right.”

  Wynn ignored his wife and looked at Nate. “For the case.”

  Nate sighed. Both Wynn and Kelli had a point, but damn if he wanted to shower, shave and head out to the meat market of Bayou Bridge. The last time he’d been there, he’d spent twelve dollars for three beers and ended up driving an old high school friend home praying she didn’t vomit in his new car. In Bayou Bridge, a single man with a steady income and all his teeth had a bull’s eye on his back. Made a man twitchy.

  “Fine. I’ll go.”

  Wynn snorted. “Maybe I should come with you.”

  Kelli’s elbow caught him. “You’ve got a nursery to paint.”

  Nate shook his head. “I’ll be fine. I’ll wear an ugly shirt or something. Maybe paint a tooth black.”

  Kelli rolled her eyes. “Please. You act like it’s torture to go out and have fun. Women aren’t that desperate to nab you, Nate Dufrene.”

  He ignored Kelli’s bait, instead grabbing his piece from the top desk drawer, checking the safety and sliding it into his harness. He’d grab lunch at the Wing Shack then head out to Beau Soleil. He wanted to talk to the nanny before he went to Gerry’s that night. Part of him wanted to see her because he wanted to see her; the other part hoped she might give him some needed insight. “Later. Have fun painting.”

  Wynn gave him a blank stare. “Have fun drinking beer, listening to good music and prying hot women off your lap.”

  Kelli whispered something in Wynn’s ear and smiled. Nate thought he’d rather be doing what they had planned that evening rather than what had been planned for him.

  Gerry’s.

  Hell.

  He left the station, climbed in his car and tried to enjoy the scenery on the way to the place where’d he’d grown into a man, but enjoying the effects the heat had had on the surroundings was hard to accomplish in September. Everything looked plain worn-out, waving a white flag of surrender.

  Annie wasn’t at Beau Soleil when Nate arrived at the house. That much was obvious from the moment he’d pulled into the drive and killed the engine. His mother looked exhausted. Her five-year-old guest looked enthused.

  “Hey,” Spencer crowed as Nate climbed out and slammed the door. The little boy ran to him, grabbed his hand and gave it a tug. “We’re playing tag. Come play with us.”

  Nate looked down at their linked hands and then at his mother who nodded. Vehemently.

  “Sorry, I’m not here to play,” he said, untangling his hand, stepping over some yellow flowers and curving an arm around his mother’s shoulders. Perspiration ran down her lined face. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his mother sweat.

  “It’s fun. Peekaboo’s good at it. Almost as good as Annie,” Spencer declared, kicking at the stones lining the flower bed before hopping past him and scrabbling up the steps. “Can I have another popsicle, Peekaboo?”

  His mother slumped against him. In relief? Exhaustion? “Sure, sweetheart. I need to take a break.”

  “You still want grandkids?” Nate muttered.

  Picou slid her gaze to his. “Of course. Did you think I’d let a five-year-old beat me? I won at tag.”

  Nate climbed the steps. “I need to talk to the nanny. Why isn’t she here?”

  “She’s out running,” Picou said, pushing through the screen door into the cool house. Nate and Spencer followed her. “Spencer woke up early from his nap, so we decided to play outside, but it’s too hot.”

  “Yeah,” Spencer agreed. The boy’s brown hair was plastered to his head and he greedily yanked free the paper on the popsicle, shoving the red frozen confection in his mouth. He pulled the treat out again leaving a ring around his mouth. “Too hot.”

  Nate hadn’t been around many kids, but this one was cute. Annoying, but cute. “So why’s she running? It’s nearly ninety-two degrees with eighty percent humidity.”

  “That’s what I said, but she said she had to run whenever she can get it in. Spencer napped, so I told her I’d keep an ear out for him while I worked on my tatting.” Picou offered Nate a wrapped treat. He waved it aside. “Fitness seems important to the girl, though I can’t say it’
s particularly smart to go out in this heat. I’m not her mother, so…”

  Nate changed his mind and took the popsicle and unwrapped it. He took a bite. It was blue raspberry. “Where does she run?”

  Picou shrugged. “Usually runs on the highway, but she had trail shoes on this time. Maybe the woods?”

  “I’ll walk around and see if I can find her.”

  “Needle in haystack,” Picou murmured, swiping the granite countertop with a worn dishtowel. “Why don’t you wait around until she gets back?”

  “Yeah, I’m good at tag,” Spencer added.

  Nate shivered. The last thing he wanted to do was waste time chasing Spencer around in the stifling heat. “Nah, I fancy a walk.”

  “’Kay.” Spencer nodded. “I wanna go to the Invian mounds again.”

  He looked down at the kid, knowing horror was etched on his face. It wasn’t as if he didn’t like children, he just didn’t know what to do with them. “You better stay here, Spencer. Mom will read you a story or turn on the television.”

  Nate glanced at his mother who wore a knowing grin. She nodded. “Or we can do a puzzle.”

  Spencer stuck out his chin. “I don’t wanna do a puzzle. I wanna go on a nature walk with him.” He pointed a sticky finger at Nate.

  “No. I need to talk to Annie about some—”

  Tears trembled on the boys lashed. “You don’t like me?”

  Nate blinked. How had the boy made tears so fast? He looked at his mother. She wore a secret smile, very Mona Lisa-like in nature. “You’re crying?”

  Spencer turned weepy brown eyes upward. “Why don’t you like me? I’m good. I won’t step on any bugs or get my shoes dirty. I promise. And I can help you find Annie, too.”

  Nate didn’t know what to do—and he always knew what to do. But this had him beat. “Um, well, I guess it will be okay.”

  “Cool. I’m not supposed to go off with anyone except Peekaboo, Annie, my mom and dad, and Brick. He’s our bodyguard. But you’re a po-lice, so that’s okay.”

  Picou shook her head in amusement.

  Nate tossed the half-eaten popsicle in the sink, not bothering to hide his disgust. He had business to conduct and he wasn’t into babysitting. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  Picou turned with a bottle of something in hand. “Let me put some bug spray on his arms and legs. Oh, and sunscreen, I may need to reapply.”

  Spencer made a face and sprinted toward the back door. Picou caught him.

  “I’ll wait outside,” Nate said, heading through the mudroom and toward the back door where they’d found the dead bird three days before. He didn’t want his mother trying to coat him up with all that junk. And he needed to think. About questions for the feisty nanny.

  About why she led him to believe she sold real estate in California. About why she had a phony website for a real-estate agency in Nevada. About who she was and why she was lying.

  “Nate?” He turned to find his mother standing next to the boy. “About that thing down in Lafourche?”

  “I’m going tomorrow, Mom.”

  Picou pressed her lips together. “Always tomorrow, huh?”

  He nodded. “But it will come.”

  He beckoned the boy and set off to find the nanny.

  * * *

  ANNIE JOGGED DOWN THE path she, Picou and Spencer had tramped down earlier that morning, glad to be away if only for an hour. Thankfully, Picou had agreed to keep an ear out for Spencer. The boy would probably take a long nap since he’d stayed up late with Tawny and Carter watching some animated feature film they’d gotten their hands on three weeks before it hit theaters. He’d been hard to wake that morning, but she’d cajoled him out with the promise of a Ring Pop after breakfast. The parenting books had stressed the importance of a schedule for young children. She ignored the chapter about limiting sugar. A nanny had to do what a nanny had to do. Sugar was like crack for kids.

  For a minute or two, she savored the absolute stillness around her, enjoying the sound of her breath and soft footfalls on the leaf-strewn trail.

  Of course, she wouldn’t be alone for long.

  Jimmy waited at the mounds.

  She increased her pace through the quiet woods, determined to make short work of getting the info and gun, returning in plenty of time to get dressed for the evening at Gerry’s Lounge. She’d cleared having the time off with Tawny and Carter. Her employment contract gave her weekends off, but over the past four weeks, she’d elected to stay on for overtime pay. Any time she’d spent away from the Keenes had been utilized meeting with Ace and his team or checking on her father in the nursing facility in Palo Alto.

  She slowed as she approached the mound. Old habits die hard. She didn’t see Jimmy, but the former Secret Service agent was good at fading into the background. She surveyed the open area surrounding the mounds, noting that it wasn’t perhaps the best meeting place after all since it left them somewhat vulnerable.

  “Hey,” Jimmy said, tossing a cigarette toward the pine straw at her feet.

  She stomped on the lit cigarette. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “A few minutes. You’re losing your skills, peach.”

  “Bullshit. I knew you were there,” she lied.

  He grinned. “Right.”

  She jabbed her hands on her hips. “You come from an agency of glorified babysitters.”

  “Well, ain’t you the pot?” Jimmy sauntered toward her, giving one of her sweaty curls a tug. “Good to see you, peach.”

  Annie pushed his hand away. From the time she’d met him, Jimmy struck her as the kind of guy who flirted with any gal age eighteen to one foot in the grave. He was average in every way with light brown hair, nondescript hazel eyes, slight build, nonthreatening nature—all perfect for getting folks to spill their guts. But for someone so Average Joe, Jimmy was convinced he was irresistible.

  “Good to see you, too,” she said, brushing her hair back, wishing she’d had the foresight to bring a hair clip. The sultry air had her hair corkscrewing into her eyes. “So how’re things at base-op?”

  “Not much to go on yet, but I’ve got some hot spots I’m pushing.”

  “Care to share?”

  Jimmy looked around and stepped closer. “Mick bothers me. He’s been screwing around with half the girls on production but has an eye on Tawny. Could be because they knocked boots at one time, but I’m getting strange vibes from those two.”

  “That explains the way Carter’s acting—he thinks she’s fooling around, but I’m not convinced. I think she may be using Mick to push Carter’s buttons. Some strong undercurrents there. Anything else?”

  Jimmy scratched the goatee on his sharp chin. “A few gals, extras mostly, have their eye on Carter, but it seems harmless. Goo-goo ga-ga over the Hollywood actor, and all. One chick follows him around a good deal and she’s got a mouth on her, but who knows?”

  “Too many possibilities to wade through,” she said, swiping her gaze across the area where they stood. The woods were still. “I’m meeting Jane McEvoy tonight at the hotel bar. Maybe I can find a string for us to pull.”

  “Ah, Jane.” Jimmy smiled. “Wouldn’t mind a taste of her, but she’s a bit of a cool customer. Some think she’s got it bad for old Mick, but he doesn’t pay her any attention.”

  “She’s only hanging out with me because she’s bored, but it’s a good opportunity to snoop around without the kid at my hip.” Annie held out a hand. “My gun, please.”

  Jimmy withdrew the 9 mm from the waistband of his jeans and handed it to her along with a small box of ammunition. She pulled the small backpack she carried off her back and unzipped the pocket, double-checking the safety, before sliding the gun and ammunition inside. The zip of the bag was the only sound in the woods, that and the call of some bird she couldn’t identify.

  Jimmy watched with eyes that missed nothing. “I’m doing my best to be one of the guys. Feels like I’m wasting time. Tonight we’re going to Baton Rouge.”


  “So we’re both going clubbing? Can we charge our drinks to Ace?”

  “A hot chick like you can work it hard enough to get ’em free, cher.”

  “You’re a Cajun now?”

  “Nope. A chameleon.”

  Annie’s snort coincided with a stick cracking on the path behind them. Jimmy took two steps back into the shadows, pulling her with him, curving one arm around her waist.

  “Let go,” she whispered, wiggling in his grasp.

  Jimmy tightened his hold “Cover, cher.”

  She heard Spencer chattering. What the hell? She glanced down at her sports watch. Two-fifteen. He should still be sleeping. Had Picou brought him out again? Then she heard the low muffled voice of a man.

  Adrenaline shot through her veins, and she pushed at Jimmy’s chest.

  More breaking sticks and muffled words.

  Someone had Spencer.

  She allowed the strap of the backpack to fall from her shoulder while simultaneously unzipping the front pocket where she’d stowed the gun. Her hand hit metal at the same time Jimmy’s lips covered hers.

  “Mff,” she sputtered as his other arm came around her, pulling her tightly to him. She jerked back, trying to break the contact because he tasted like an ashtray, because she didn’t like guys with goatees kissing her, and because Spencer might be in grave danger. But Jimmy held fast and even increased the pressure against her lips.

  She wrapped her hand around the gun’s grip and prepared to do battle with whoever had the boy she’d been hired to protect.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ANNIE STRUGGLED TO REMOVE herself from Jimmy’s arms while ripping her mouth from his—before he tried some tongue action or something equally disgusting.

  “A little afternoon delight?” The voice came from behind them and held little amusement.

  She allowed the gun to fall back into the pocket of the backpack and spun toward the wry voice. Nate stood in the path of the woods, holding Spencer’s hand. Her heart froze, and for a moment, she felt as if she’d been caught cheating on him. Maybe it had something to do with his eyes flinging poisonous darts their way.