

Taylor's Choice

By

Frank Perry

Hampton Falls, New Hampshire

Books.by.frank@gmail.com

Synopsis

A young deputy in Louisiana must choose between two lovers. One is a single mother in Maine whom he meets through tragedy. The other is his childhood sweetheart who reappears after a decade apart. The two women couldn't be more different. One is a northern girl from a vastly different background tied to New England, and the other is impoverished in southeastern Texas. He's pulled in both directions, yet must choose. Fate and circumstance intervenes to influence his choice.

Copyright © 2018 by Frank Perry

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email to: books.by.frank@gmail.com.

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Acknowledgements

I would like to express my gratitude to the many people who saw me through this book: to all those who provided support, talked things over, read, critiqued, offered comments, and assisted in the editing, proofreading, and design. I would like to thank Beverly Heinle for patiently proofing, editing and suggesting improvements that have been invaluable. Above all I want to thank my wife, Janet, who supported me throughout this and edited the first drafts.

I also would like to thank Rick Cesario for laboring through the earliest draft and making invaluable suggestions. Alex Dittami provided valuable story and legal critique. Nancy Ramos made enriching comments. Special thanks to my son, Brendan Perry who developed the cover art.

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, world organizations, government agencies, regulations, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The author professes no medical training related to the subject matter.

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Other books by Frank:

  * Recall to Arms

  * The Cobra Identity

  * Reign of Terror

  * Letters From the Grave

  * Kingfish

  * Sibley's Secret

  * The Dolos Conspiracy

  * The Girl On The Cliff

Delivery

Leroy DeBlanc was at the right spot on the narrow levee winding through the park's swampland. There are only a few locations near the coast at night with complete privacy that were still accessible to a highway. The Wildlife Refuge was mostly marshland with a single-lane raised shell road winding through it, barely permitting one-way travel for daytime bird watchers, recreational fishing, shrimping, and crabbing. His rusty Dodge pickup had raised suspension and knobby tires, common in this part of Louisiana.

The park had closed at dusk, but enforcement was mostly on the honor system. In reality, the night creatures scared most trespassers away. He was alone under the moonless sky. His engine was off. It was completely dark except for an occasional glimpse of starlight through the fast-moving cloud cover. Humidity was unbearable with no night breeze, and the mosquitos were voracious. Every vehicle in this part of the country was air conditioned, including his, but most didn't work well after a few years. His didn't work at all. Both side windows were down. The swamp was crawling with unseen reptiles, scary even for a native. His radio was barely audible, playing country music. He wanted to hear the night sounds ... one sound in particular.

It was nights like this that made Leroy think about his life. He remembered his teachers in elementary school. Some, the ones that gave a damn, had encouraged him to do better. Some even might have cared about him. He'd quit before reaching high school , but that was farther in school than his parents. He'd never read a book and struggled to read newspapers written at a third-grade level. What was the point? He knew from his mother that he wouldn't ever be anyone important. "It ain't our kind."

Now, at forty-eight, fat, bald, unshaven and unbathed, smelling like day-old road kill, he was alone in this creepy dark swamp. Nobody important would ever do this. He didn't usually care. He lived his life apart, sharing the old single-wide with his ugly sister, never shaving and rarely bathing. He didn't care how people looked at him with his overhanging gut and filthy split pants. But on nights like this, he wondered if he could have had other choices -- not swatting mosquitos and fearing reptiles all around him. He hated this job, it gave him too much time to think, something hard for him.

It was the right spot, he knew that much, but the arrival time could be way off. His cell could track the flights, but it was too complicated for him to use. He didn't understand Lat/Long numbers. He came early to wait for however long it took. He searched porn on his phone and smoked cigarettes to calm his nerves. Smoke filled the cab. The wait could be short or long, it was impossible to predict, and there was always the possibility of someone patrolling the park, but he'd never seen anyone after midnight. He would be sleeping at home now if it weren't for the fast money he was making. He slept most of the time. But thinking about the cash made him smile.

Sometime later, he heard a faint buzzing sound coming from the south over the swamp. It wasn't a natural sound. It was quiet and hardly detectable. It was close, traveling slowly, nearing the programmed landing spot on the road ahead.

He turned the radio off and stepped out onto the levee, holding his long-handled flashlight. He scanned ahead, looking for telltale glints from night prowling eyes, then turned it off. There wasn't much chance of being spotted from the highway through the tall reeds, and he didn't want to ruin his night vision. The buzzing passed overhead, invisible against the black sky, then it hovered ahead, dropping a package. Within seconds, the drone sped away, flying low back toward the gulf.

Leroy moved quickly to retrieve the package. Three more loads arrived over twenty minutes. Each time, several bricks came down, weighing two kilos each. The street value of each brick was more than fifty-thousand dollars. He was being paid well just to transport them to New Orleans. He'd sometimes thought about running away with a shipment, but the people paying him were murderers and he could never hide well enough, he was certain of that. He was paid well enough without that risk.

The drugs were sealed by paper, dipped in wax, then rolled in red clay dust to look like the other bricks in his truck. They weighed about the same. Tonight, he would collect a thousand dollars for losing a few hours sleep. He smiled to himself – easy money.

After stacking the bricks near his masonry trowels and other tools in the back, he closed the cover and locked it. The risk of discovery was nil. He'd be rid of the bricks in less than an hour. But he wasn't alone. He was preparing to climb into the cab when headlights pierced the reeds on the levee behind him. He didn't panic, but his pulse raced as sweat dripped faster. Someone was driving toward him.

Amanda Bryant didn't like this part of her job. She'd only been in the Forest Service for three months. She patrolled the levee every few hours on her night shifts. The other Rangers would stay in the office with the door locked when they had the duty. It was spooky along the levee road, and nobody would know if she didn't patrol.

It could be dangerous, and why take chances after dark? Amanda wanted to do a good job. Her boss had recruited her and she wanted to make him proud of her. But, she it was foolish for anyone, yet alone young woman, to be driving in the swamp alone in the dark. What would she find? Whatever it was, it wouldn't be good. She could carry a gun, but hated them. She'd been raised in a peaceful Southern Maine coastal town where nothing bad happened. Her parents taught her to always see the good in people. If they could see her tonight, they'd be worried sick.

Oh well, she didn't tell them everything. She didn't tell Kamm everything either. They talked each night, and would be married soon. At least that's the way she saw their relationship. At night, alone like this, she thought about him. He would protect her if he was there. He was in the truck cab with her tonight; at least she could imagine him there with her. It gave her courage. This would probably be her last night patrol. There wasn't any reason for her to be out there except to scare people off. Right! ... Like a five-foot-three, 100 pound, pint-sized girl was ever going to scare anyone. Hell, what could they do at night anyway? This is the last night patrol she would make. None of her co-workers did it.

During normal daytime duty, she recorded data about alligator habits and reproduction statistics. Her information could be used around the world. She also checked pelican and bald eagle nests. But research was only part of her job, and she was also responsible for enforcing the park rules. She hated the night patrol, but it might protect the animals from intruders. That was her theory. She only had the night shift a few days each month, splitting with the other Rangers.

Amanda had had basic training in law enforcement, but no real experience with trespassers. Driving slowly on the oyster-shells in her Government SUV, she thought about home. She thought about it often. She'd only been back once since graduating from the University of New England. She missed home, but there weren't any jobs in her major, animal behavior, when she graduated. She was grateful to be working around animals, even a thousand miles away from home. Of course, swamp animals along the Louisiana coast weren't like the animals she'd studied in the northern woods, but it helped establish her credentials. She also thought about Kamm. She was thinking about him at this moment.

Her boyfriend in college was Kamm Fulton, also from Maine. He also graduated from UNE. They had lived in the same house with other students in Old Orchard Beach during their senior year and had begun a relationship. By graduation, they didn't have any solid plans, yet. He wanted to stay near home and complete an internship as a Physical Therapist at a hospital in southern Maine that promised full-time employment. Amanda wasn't so fortunate. She only received one job offer, the one she took, but in retrospect, she hadn't gauged the emotional impact enough, moving away, away from Nicole, her parents, and Kamm.

She was thinking about them all as the road turned through the tall grass. She saw it -- just a shadow at first, then reflection from taillight lenses ahead. A pickup was parked. It wasn't moving and the lights were off. There was a man in the shadows, shielding his eyes from her headlights. Her pulse raced. She stopped, but was already too close to the unfamiliar truck. She locked the doors, uncertain what to do at first. She recalled training about confronting trespassers when alone. It wasn't just the police training, it was the way she'd avoided walking around campus alone at night. She made a quick radio call to her office. Nobody would be listening, it was her shift, but she wanted to leave a recorded message. She couldn't read the muddy license on the pickup. What should I do? The man wasn't moving and didn't look threatening; although he was a head taller and probably weighed almost triple her weight. She wasn't wearing her weapon and didn't have the pepper spray she carried in her purse, which was locked up in the office. She was too nervous to use a weapon safely, anyway.

The man started walking toward her. She opened the door a crack and yelled, "Please, stop where you are, sir!" He couldn't see her through the glare.

"Ah ... okay, Miss." He stopped at the rear of his truck.

She stayed hidden behind her lights, yelling "What are you doing here, sir? You know that the park is closed at dusk, don't you? That's over six hours ago."

He didn't answer but might have shrugged.

She wouldn't get an explanation. "I need to see some identification and truck registration."

"All right, I just gotta get ma' papers from up in the cab ... jus' a minute."

He gestured toward the front and turned away before she could say anything. She stepped out, moving in front of her vehicle. When the man looked back, he could see her in front of her lights. He could also see she was small and wasn't armed. Leroy was scared, too. He didn't know what to do, but he grabbed his hunting rifle. Gun racks aren't common up north where Amanda was raised, but everyone seemed to have them in Louisiana, so she wasn't cautious enough. But when Leroy stepped back awkwardly, she saw the gun. Before she could react, he pointed toward her, paralyzing her with fear. His voice was shaking. "Okay, lady, now get down on yo' knees." He'd never threatened a human before and trembled, but she couldn't tell.

Terror overtook her. "Please ... don't shoot me!" She stumbled to the ground with her hands in the air, off balance with fear. The hard, crushed shells hurt her knees. She ducked her eyes in reflex, away from the gun.

Then, Leroy changed his mind. "Ah, go on and get on back up. Come this way." He pointed the gun toward her, but he hadn't chambered a round in the confusion. She didn't know this.

"Okay, I'm doing it, just please don't shoot me! I'll do what you say."

As she moved slowly toward him, he held the rifle in one hand while fumbling to unlock the truck bed cover. "Stop there."

She could see what he planned and panicked. "What are you doing!" she pleaded.

He unlocked the lid, but didn't lift it. "Here, open the gate and climb in." He moved away and tried to steady the gun, pointing at her head.

She backed away when the gate fell open. She cried, "What ... what do you want? What are you doing?"

He gestured and jabbed her with the gun barrel when she didn't move. "Get yo'self in there."

"No! No-o-o, What are you going to do!" She was panicking as tears blurred her vision.

"I ain't rightly decided. Jus' get in there ... get!" He threatened again, stepping closer and punched her in the stomach with the gun stock.

She cried out, then complied. No more words were spoken. When she crawled under the cover, he pushed her roughly inside and slammed the tail gate closed, locking automatically under the cover.

The ride along the levee was jerky. Leroy was so upset that he could barely keep centered on the ten-foot wide stone surface surrounded by swamp. What am I gonna do with her? Any discomfort he felt from the heat and insects was worse for Amanda, locked under cover on a rusty metal truck bed with only two feet of airspace, surrounded by sharp tools and bricks. When Leroy reached the highway there was a huge pothole. The rear wheels slammed up to the truck's frame violently, throwing it airborne for a split second. Amanda screamed, pounded by flying bricks and cut by his tools. He heard her, but didn't stop. He continued a short distance then pulled to the side of the road. He jumped out and yelled without opening the cover. "Hey, ya'll okay in there?"

She screamed. "You're killing me! I can't breathe. I'm bleeding. I think I broke something back there. Please let me go!"

"Ah, sorry, missy, I got to get somewhere fast and maybe figure this out. I cain't do nothin' now. You just keep quiet, ya hear me! If'n someun's to hear ya, I might have ta do some hurtin' which I ain't natur'lly inclined." He ran back to the driver's seat, ignoring her protests. He needed to get to New Orleans. He was being monitored via GPS and was expected to come directly to his destination.

Good Morning

It was seven in the morning. Biddeford, Maine, was an hour ahead of Louisiana. Amanda would be off shift and expecting Kamm's call. They talked every day. At least they tried to talk every day, except when something extraordinary intervened. In fact, it was common to talk several times per day. He dialed.

Amanda's phone rang in the forestry truck cab. The engine was running with headlights still on at dawn. He left a message: "Hi sweetheart ... sorry we missed ... I wanted to hear your voice before leaving for work. You know how it makes my day!" Where could she be? She always answers – almost always.

Kamm had a full day ahead, excited about treating one patient without supervision for the first time, an auto accident survivor. After months of on-the-job training, with his new degree in Physical Therapy, he was finally entrusted to treat a patient on his own. He wanted to share his excitement with his girl. She would hear about it tonight.

Ranger Station

Senior Ranger, Hanson (Boyd) Jassop, arrived at the park office at seven o'clock. He would relieve Amanda and set the schedule for the other Rangers when the park opened. He was surprised to find the office locked with the lights still on. She wasn't inside and there was no note. Boyd was fond of Amanda. He'd recruited her and they'd developed a close relationship almost immediately. She 'd become like a daughter to him. Her eagerness and youthful vitality reminded him of his own younger daughters. She was exceptionally smart and good with people. She loved animals. She was a perfect Ranger.

He knew she wasn't thrilled about moving so far from home, and the Louisiana swampland didn't always appeal to people up north. But she'd come anyway. He liked to think it was because of his powers of persuasion. He'd been a Forest Ranger for almost twenty years and loved it. Amanda was just beginning her career, and she seemed to share his passion for it.

She had accepted the job immediately. Part of the decision was based on Boyd himself. In college, she'd had a professor who'd taken special interest in her and helped guide her course and major decisions. She loved the animals and the field projects more than most of the other students, even the graduate students. She'd gotten top grades and recommendations from the department head and gotten more out of the undergraduate program than most. Boyd was having the same kind of influence on her.

Boyd's girls were in California, living with their mother, and he missed them. He'd been a shy child growing up and introverted. Living near the Russian River in Northern California, he'd spent most of his free time alone, exploring the coastal mountains. He loved nature. He was slightly shorter than average and skinny, not particularly athletic. On the other hand, he could camp alone in the mountains without fear and he'd learned to forage to eat. He was a conservationist, even as a child, and wanted to preserve things in their natural state. He hated cities.

He'd met his wife in college at Chico State where he'd studied natural science and spent his internship at a fishery in Central California. From that experience, he'd hoped to work with fish and game, supporting the fishing industry. His wife was a marketing major, planning to work in advertising. She'd grown up in San Francisco. She was a city girl. They'd met through a mutual friend and they clicked, although completely different. She was outgoing and sociable; he was the complete opposite. In their case, opposites had, indeed, attracted. After graduation, they married, but their relationship started deteriorating almost immediately when Boyd took a position with the Forestry Service, far away from any urban location where she could work. When the first baby came, she moved to her parent's home, planning to get a job. They needed the money and she was tired of living in the wilderness of North-Central California. He followed months later with a transfer to a small federal park near the Golden Gate Bridge. He was miserable and by the time daughter number two was born, the marriage had all but ended. It wasn't either's fault and they still cared for each other, but the marriage was over.

When he'd taken the promotion to Senior Ranger three years earlier, requiring the move to Louisiana, his wife had given him a final ultimatum. She wasn't moving there – not there! She'd been a California girl all her life. It meant more to her than their marriage. Boyd loved his girls, but the marriage had soured long before. The promotion and move was, for him, just another dimension of their divorce. It tore at him, leaving his daughters behind, but they talked almost every day and he followed all their activities. They visited each other as often as possible; sometimes they'd come to him, and sometimes he flew to California for long weekends. Both girls talked about going to Tulane in New Orleans when old enough. Of course, there was no certainty since they were barely high school age and their priorities could change. There was also a chance that he could transfer back to a park on the west coast. One way or another, his girls would always be the most important part of his life.

Amanda reminded him of his daughters. She was young, alone, and a long way from home. She was a petite beauty. She thought more seriously about the animal and eco-system research projects at the park than anything else. She didn't miss a thing. It wasn't just a job to her, it was important research. She hoped to preserve the environment and all living creatures. He admired her. To him, she was the best kind of ranger for the park.

Where was she? Amanda was always reliable. She should have been there. The SUV was gone too, which meant that she was probably patrolling. The first duty with all shifts after the park closed was to tour the levee road, checking for malingerers and unlawful intruders, but that was hours ago. Boyd knew that most of the rangers didn't actually go out after dark. They stayed in the office, afraid of encountering poachers. Teenagers sometimes parked there too, but gator poachers had guns. Patrols usually took less than an hour. There were several entrances to the park, so there was no guarantee that a patrol would actually catch anyone, they were intended to discourage unauthorized visitors. Amanda was one of the few, maybe the only, ranger who actually patrolled. Where was she?

The park would open at 7:30 and Boyd would be alone until the duty Ranger arrived. His normal routine was to arrive early and debrief with the outgoing officer and then overlap with the next shift. He spent most of his day in field work, checking gator and bird nests, recording sightings and tending to repairs around the park. He worked along with Amanda frequently. Something was wrong; he felt it. He drove his pickup into the park.

Concern

Nicole – Nicky was tired. She'd been on her feet all day. It was a day that should have ended with a glass of wine and a foot massage, if her mom was feeling up to it. She lived with her parents. At twenty-eight, she should have been on her own, raising kids, owning a home, sharing a late romantic moment on the deck with her husband, overlooking York Harbor. But rather than being able to relax, she'd be taking care of Millie, her three-year-old autistic daughter.

Millie was outwardly impaired around people she didn't know, she didn't talk. She was better with Nicky's parents and her, but strangers caused problems. Her developmental problems were first seen before she was two and had gotten progressively worse. Nobody could predict if it would get better or worse in the future, but her parents were tired every night and Nicky wouldn't be relaxing until after Millie's bed time. She loved her baby, but Millie was a special burden.

Before she was two, Millie had stopped saying some of her usual phrases like "bye-bye" or "night-night." Shortly after that, she stopped responding to her name and didn't share her toys or play with her mother. Bedtime was the worst. It seemed like she'd lost all love and awareness of people and things familiar to her. Nothing excited her anymore; she just seemed to go inside a shell. The medical diagnosis, indicating autistic spectrum, was crushing.

Nicky's parents were supportive and loved Millie despite the immense burden she created on all of them. They loved their daughter and shared the special chores of raising Millie to give Nicky time to work and to have a little peace and rest. But even with this exceptional support, Nicky often felt overwhelmed. And some nights, after work, when depression loomed, Millie had a way of rejuvenating her. No matter what obstacles were ahead for her baby, Nicky was determined to give Millie the best life she could.

York Harbor, Maine, is secluded, without the tourist traffic of most southern Maine towns. There are no public beaches, only rocky shores and a few night spots, just some quaint Inns with top chefs known mostly to locals. Nicky should have been living a suburban coastal lifestyle, but she wasn't. Things hadn't worked out. She'd started college right after high school, finishing three years as a Photo Journalism major. She'd been strong-willed as a teenager, which played a part in her current circumstances. She'd fallen in love too easily.

Nicky had been a flirt. She'd been popular in high school, beautiful and smart. She attracted boys like a magnet. It was the same at college. She liked it, dating but not committing. She earned good grades and excelled in field work, but her social schedule overruled good judgement. She hadn't wanted a steady boyfriend. Why should she? She was popular and was dating several boys, never spending a lonely weekend. She'd been on a collision course with disaster. She knew it now. Campus life had overtaken her, the social part. She'd been a butterfly, flitting from one beau to the next ... until Sam came along in her junior year. She could have blamed her parents for allowing her to live on campus just thirty minutes from home, but it would be an excuse.

Sam was from Chicago. To Nicky, he was perfect: handsome, smart, and well-to-do. His family owned radio stations around the Midwest. Sam drove a relatively new BMW convertible. Nicky was helpless around Sam. Whenever he wanted to go someplace or do something, she rushed to be with him. They had fun together, too much fun. They'd often park near Nubble Lighthouse for hours at night, making out, going "all the way." He joked about how small the rear seat was. More than once, the cops had interrupted their private moments and forced them to leave, embarrassing her, afraid that her parents would find out. They were college kids and the cops didn't call parents, but she still worried.

She was in love. At least, she thought it was love. But Sam had different thoughts. He was just having fun. He didn't care deeply about her; he also didn't care much about school. She took the hard courses, while he took the easiest way possible, never really declaring a serious major. At the end of their junior year, Sam's parents had had enough of his behavior and demanded that he come home. He left Nicky with a quick peck on the cheek, and "thanks for the good times." He never contacted her again despite the messages she would leave for weeks after he was gone.

Her mother understood when Nicky delayed returning to school. She was emotionally injured and embarrassed around her friends. She was kind and caring and always saw the best in people. But some of the girls she knew around town and at school weren't so considerate. She just wanted to hide for a while. Her father was furious at first, fearful that she had wasted three years and all the money invested. It didn't need to be so. She could have returned in the future, but her father wasn't patient. Her mother understood it and knew her daughter's emotional state would cause her to fail if she returned too quickly. Nicky needed time off.

That summer, she stayed near home, refusing to go out with friends. She spent most of her time playing with her young sister, Amanda. That was the summer they'd bonded. Nicky was like another mother to Amanda, though only five years older. Actually, she was like an older cousin who'd come to visit for the summer; except the summer turned into the winter and then into the summer again. Nicky changed. She wasn't a playgirl anymore. She was more serious. When she enrolled in cosmetology school near home, her parents reluctantly agreed to pay for it. Over the months that followed, she experimented by cutting hair on everyone: her father, her mother, but mostly Amanda. The girls were close, but Amanda wasn't old enough to understand the issues Nicky was facing ... they bonded as deeply as any siblings could. Their sisterly-love was unbreakable.

Now, after years working as a stylist, Nicky made a good income with a steady clientele, and her motivation for college had evaporated. Photo journalism no longer interested her. After Nicky's failed romance with Sam and quitting school as a result, her life was on hold. To help combat her funk, Nicky's new girlfriends at the salon arranged blind dates and brought her to parties, hoping she'd meet someone new, someone who could displace her memories of Sam. Men had swarmed to her and she'd flirted, but avoided serious attachments. She rarely dated. Then she met Henry.

Henri (Henry) had immigrated to America from France at thirteen when his father was transferred to Boston as the Managing Director of the US headquarters for Banque de France. Henri spoke almost perfect English, having attended a top preparatory school in Paris and was placed at Concord Academy as a high school freshman. His English became nearly accent-free after taking private language lessons at Concord, and he was admitted to Harvard upon graduation. College had been easy for him and law school followed. They met at a private party where Nicky was intrigued by Henri's sophistication and European mannerisms, something his mother had instilled. From outward appearances, he was a perfect man for her: handsome, articulate and on a fast track for advancement. His father's connections in Boston and across the country were double insurance that he would become successful. His specialty was handling foreign company registrations and legal issues in the U.S.

After a short courtship, Henri and Nicole married and she moved to Massachusetts, living in his upscale apartment in Wellesley. At first, they had a fairytale existence. He made a good salary and had prospects of becoming a partner ahead of his peers from law school. But underlying this seemingly perfect existence was a ticking bomb that was destined to ruin his career. Henri was a drug addict. It was a habit started in high school that had expanded through college. At first, he justified using amphetamines to keep late night study hours, often not sleeping at all. In the last year of law school, when it was clear that he would graduate with honors, he progressed to harder drugs, experimenting with anything he could purchase on the streets of Cambridge at night. Over time, he'd settled on opioids as his drug of choice.

He'd managed to hide it well, or Nicole had ignored the signs when they were dating. He never tried to induce her to use anything. After they married, he became increasingly secretive and an abusive asshole, too often high. Nicky became fearful and shared her dread with Amanda, in despair, soon after their marriage. When Nicky was down, Amanda was down and vice versa.

Henri's profession suffered as well. He mishandled cases and was ultimately disbarred when his behavior became unbearable in court. He'd knowingly tried to pursue a fraudulent registration for a Middle Eastern firm suspected of funding terror activities. When his troubles escalated, legal expenses had overwhelmed them, destroyed their savings and her retirement account and causing their few assets to be repossessed. Henri avoided imprisonment, but that was the only good thing. When his behavior failed to improve, she'd finally had enough. She'd had enough soon after their brief marriage began, but it took a critical turn following a last court appearance and his refusal to seek rehab. They separated and then divorced, leaving her pregnant; expecting the baby only a month after their divorce was final. She had less than nothing. There were credit card bills he'd managed to sneak into her accounts. She had Millie after moving back home with her parents, during Amanda's sophomore year in college.

After two failed attempts at love, Nicky was jaded toward men. She couldn't stand another failure. She joined a gym and went to work-out classes regularly, her only social activity. Most of her school friends had started families. Many had moved away. She was no longer a party girl. She didn't miss it. She actually enjoyed the solitude at home, and Millie consumed every moment when awake. Amanda and Nicky were extremely close - best friends. When Amanda graduated summa cum laude, it was a vicarious celebration for Nicky too. She felt like she had finally graduated herself.

Nicky's joy, living with her sister again, lasted only briefly after graduation, when Amanda took the job in Louisiana. Neither of them realized how traumatic her move south would be until that day came. They would never live together again. That life was over. Both cried when reality set in. They had a complete meltdown just as Amanda prepared to drive away in her old Toyota filled with everything personal to her. She took everything with her -- everything except the people she loved: her parents, Nicky, Millie, and Kamm.

Nicky was indifferent toward Kamm. To her, he represented some to the heartache she'd experienced. He wasn't the same kind of guy she'd been attracted to: he really was a good guy. He was Amanda's first serious boyfriend and probably her husband someday. Both roles represented potential disasters for her little sister, from Nicky's experiences.

Now, after work, she went to her room, the room she and Amanda had shared. She left the door partly opened and lay on the bed, exhausted, resting for a few minutes before helping her mother with Millie and supper. It was tough standing over people's hair all day long, engaging in conversations about other people's problems. It was part of the job. She'd developed some friendships with various clients and some of the other stylists at the salon, and she could share some of her own problems with them. But it was still tiring. She closed her eyes when her Phone buzzed ... Kamm.

"Hi Kamm. What's up?"

"Nicky, what's going on with Amanda? We haven't talked for more than a day. Has she said anything to you?" He didn't want to think that he'd been replaced. He was completely loyal to Amanda and figured she'd return to the Northeast soon, or he'd move to be with her. One way or another, they would be together. Did she suddenly fall for someone else down there?

Nicky didn't really want to talk. "I don't know, Kamm. I'm sure she'll call. It's only been a day, right? How serious could it be? She's a big girl with a job she loves. Maybe she's just too tired to talk to you." Just like me.

"We talk every day, Nicky. She never complains about being tired."

"Okay, Kamm. I'll see if she answers me." She disconnected, planning to rest for a while longer. What if he's right? What if Amanda is in some kind of trouble?

Missing

The voice answered, "Cameron Parish Sheriff's Office."

"Hi, this is Boyd Jassop, Senior Ranger over at Rockefeller Refuge, I need to report a missing person."

"Jus'a momen' sir." The line was put on hold.

After some moments, "Ah, Ranger Jassop, this is Deputy Taylor, how can I assist you?"

"Deputy Taylor, I'm the senior federal officer in charge of the Rockefeller Wildlife Refuge and I've got a missing Ranger."

Taylor wasn't taking notes. "You say you lost a ranger, Jassop? Federal you say? How do you lose a ranger?"

"Look deputy, I'm out here on the levee road that goes through the park and I found our truck stopped in the road with the engine on and lights on. There's no one around. My rangers make night patrols here. It's dangerous sometimes if poachers are out. I found the truck, but my ranger is missing."

"Hum ... well, maybe he's just taking a leak in the woods. How 'bout that?"

"Look, deputy, I know my people. This one is a young woman. She's new here. She didn't stop to pee."

"Well, could she be lost somewhere in the woods?"

"That's the point. There's no place to go. It's all swamp at this spot, only reeds and no trees that you can walk to. The road is the only solid ground. Haven't you been here? You must know what it's like." Boyd was about to ask to talk to the Sheriff if this ignoramus didn't start taking him seriously.

"Yeah, I've been there a bunch of times ... kind of ugly in spots. Sounds like you're in one of the stretches with nothin' but grass and gators?"

"Okay, now that you have the visual, how about giving me a hand here to find my ranger? She's important to us and something bad has happened."

"Well, sir, I'm sure things 'll work out. There's got to be an explanation."

"Look, deputy, I know my people, she did her night patrol, sometime after midnight. She stopped out here in the total darkness because something made her stop. The truck engine is still on and the lights. I'm concerned that she encountered someone bad who made her get out."

"There's probably other possibilities. We get these missing calls all the time. For example, maybe a gator blocked the road. There's some big ones out there. I've seen them. Could she have been attacked?"

"I don't think so."

"Why's that? Don't gators come out on the road?"

"Of course they do, but she wouldn't have left her weapon on the seat if it was a gator. She probably caught a person out here. She wouldn't use a gun on a person."

"Why not? A poacher could be a lot more dangerous than some animal."

"Look, I just know, okay! She hates guns and wouldn't have wanted to provoke someone."

"Well, she should be trained better. They're some dangerous folks -- those poachers."

"Yes, I know, but this ranger was opposed to violence and only carried a gun because it's required. She left it on the seat in its holster nearby. Most Rangers just help the tourists. We don't shoot them! Look, let me talk to the boss, I need some investigators here. In the meantime, I'm closing the park."

"Don't close! I've got friends coming, and they want to see some gators."

"I just did."

Home in York

"Did you talk to your sister lately?" Mom was sitting on the bed, rubbing Nicky's calves and massaging her feet. Millie played with blocks nearby.

"No. I mean I talked to her on Monday. Today's Wednesday, so we don't talk every day. I'll call her later. She's on night shift this week and I can call while she's sitting in that ranger station alone."

Mom smiled and left to continue preparing dinner. Nicky called after her, "You want some help, ma?"

"Sure, set the table. We're just having leftovers. I went to the farmer's market in town and I'm making a salad with cold lobster." It was one of Nicky's favorites. There were certain advantages to living near the harbor's lobster processing station.

It was an election year and the dinner conversation was lively, since both ends of the political spectrum existed under the same roof. Nicky and her mother were arch liberals and her father was a moderate-leaning conservative. About the only thing they could agree on was that no good candidates ever ran for public office. Why would anyone put up with the public vetting and intrusive press? The subject shifted to family. It mostly centered on the prospects for Amanda's return to Maine and possible marriage to Kamm. Her parents were careful not to speculate aloud on Nicky's future, regardless of their secret hope for her happiness. They didn't want a third strike.

Nicky took over the cleanup duties, then went to her room to call Amanda. There was no answer, but she wasn't concerned ... not yet.

The following morning, she wanted to sleep late. Her mother always got up early and fed Millie, letting Nicky sleep. Her first appointment wasn't until ten o'clock and she didn't take walk-ins. She didn't need to. Steady clientele filled her days. Today, she would start working at ten and not finish until after six at night. She'd get up soon enough, by eight, to be with Millie before leaving. Such was the life she led. She was content to sleep in, but then her phone range ... Kamm.

"Hi Kamm, what's up?" She was still groggy and slightly resentful for the early morning intrusion.

"Nicky, I'm really getting worried. Amanda still isn't answering. Something's not right. I know it!"

"Ah, Kamm, don't get panicky. Maybe she lost her phone and hasn't had time to get a new one yet. It happened to me once."

"Look, Nicky, how can you not be worried? I know what you two mean to each other. Even if she's fine, we have a right to be worried when she doesn't communicate."

"All right, Kamm, I'll call the park where she works and see if she's there. I'll let you know." She wanted to sleep but was also beginning to share his anxiety. Nicky simply would not allow herself to consider that anything could happen to her baby sister. She would know it somehow. She didn't know how, but she would feel it if Amanda was in trouble. She couldn't accept any other possibility. Nicky had been hurt enough already, she couldn't have anything else happen.

Headline

A third-page headline in the New Orleans Times read: Local Man Tortured to Death. The article went on to read that the body of a forty-eight year old male was found in a parked pickup truck in a rural location outside of the city. The police are not releasing any details at this time except to say that it is clearly a homicide. The body was discovered by local hunters who saw the body, which appeared to have had its throat cut, according to them. The ears were gone and the eyes gouged out, signature of a gangland torture and slaying. No motive is known at this time; however, the recent upsurge in violent crime, particularly gruesome murders, is attributed to the growing insurgence of drugs and the western crime gangs infiltrating the city.

Over the past three years, murders had quadrupled. Various law enforcement sources reported that west coast gangs, notably the crips and bloods, had moved into the Southern gulf states and the Caribbean Basin to develop new channels for drug trafficking as federal law enforcement closed down the land borders. In many cities, the violent gang members outnumber law enforcement and were better funded. As cities became saturated with gangs, law enforcement could not function effectively.

Dilemma

John (Johnny) Jagneaux was up early. He liked to work out in his private gym located in the pool house of his mansion on Audubon Place. He loved living there and never forgot the miserable places of his childhood. His parents had dragged him all over east Texas. He'd never lived in a real house before buying his own place here in New Orleans. The biggest place he'd ever seen before fourteen was when his mother moved into a double-wide after one of her husbands, who wasn't Johnny's father, was killed in an oil field accident. At least that was the story she told. It wasn't something he ever thought about, he'd hated the man, hated the way he treated Johnny's mother. He was dead, and that's all that mattered.

Jagneaux had had a hard life as a kid. As an adult, now making good money, he was short and skinny, even though his parents had been large people, fat mostly. He'd suffered from malnutrition throughout his early years, which stunted his growth. His biologic father had been six feet, plus, and his mother was above average. But Jagneaux was barely five-five with gaunt features. It wasn't the amount of food he ate: he ate well now, food that would fatten a scarecrow. His face was pockmarked from severe acne and his shoulder-length stringy black hair was receding prematurely.

Life hadn't been easy for him. It had taken almost thirty years for him to finally pull out of the cesspool life he'd known as a kid. He left it behind when he was sixteen, stealing some money from his mother and hitchhiking east. He didn't have a plan other than to get away from home, from her, from the life he was destined to follow otherwise. He'd slept in train cars, barns, and even in dumpsters, finally stopping in New Orleans. The old Cajon setting had a magical attraction. Other kids thought about Disney World, but Johnny just though about how differently people lived in this part of Louisiana. It fit his impulsive urgings. It wasn't long before he was in trouble with the law. He was caught stealing fruit and vegetables from a farm stand. Someone more sympathetic to a starving boy might have reacted differently, maybe even benevolently, but not this old farmer. He believed in the harshest form of punishment. For Johnny, this meant a ride to the police station and a phone call to his mother. When she refused to have him sent back to her, the police gave him over to Children's and Family Services. Within a few days, he climbed out a window and was back to the streets, destitute again.

His life turned to serious crime with a mob family as a runner. But his curiosity and lack of loyalty nearly got him killed when he started skimming money. He barely escaped alive, avoiding retribution, and started using a new identity. He didn't have any legal form of identification and assumed several over the following years. A few years later, after living through petty crime, he got a job at a sleazy used car lot, working for commissions. His lack of integrity and truthfulness became an asset. This changed over time. His salesmanship evolved along more ethical lines, and his success was parlayed into his own unique business.

Working in the sales office and adopting computer technology early, he was one of the first people in the region to exploit the internet for car sales. His business model was simple. He would attend the used car auctions in neighboring Texas for the best bargains in cars from the dry climates that survived better than the northern rust-belt models. His business flourished, as his virtual showroom grew, shipping southwestern cars to the northeast. Success happened rapidly. He could now live in an expensive neighborhood in New Orleans, drive the best cars, and date women with no commitments interfering. His wife left him over his infidelities and other problems, which he regretted, but not enough to change. They weren't formally divorced and he thought about getting back together, but his alternative business interests remained a big problem. Over time, the virtual car business wasn't enough. He'd needed to expand and technology had been his avenue. Ironically, it was an idea being publicized for same-day deliveries from online retailers that gave him the solution. He was a serious drug smuggler.

The Call

He looked at the display on the office phone and dreaded answering. Oh great, Maine. "Hello, this is Boyd Jassop."

"Hi, Ranger, my name is Nicole Bryant. People call me Nicky. My sister is Amanda Bryant."

"Hi, Nicky, call me Boyd. I'm Amanda's boss."

"Oh, good, Amanda left this number if we needed to call her at work. I hate to bother you, but we haven't heard from her and just wanted to check up to see if she was all right. I didn't mean to bother you. She really loves working down there, and I don't want to be a nosey sister."

There was a short pause. "Ah, Nicky, I wish I could tell you something. I've got a search going for Amanda right now. We don't know exactly where she is."

"A search? What does that mean?"

"Okay, I shouldn't say more, but you are her direct family, right?"

"Yes, we don't get more direct. She's my baby sister and we're all worried."

His head throbbed. "Here's what I know, Nicky. Yesterday morning, she was supposed to be in the office. I came in at seven and she wasn't here. She's always where she should be, but not this time. I went looking for her and found our patrol vehicle running with some of her stuff inside, but she was gone."

"What do you mean 'gone'? She disappeared?"

"I don't know. It was in a part of the park where it's pretty wide open so ... she just wasn't anywhere. I looked around then called the sheriff's office. They've got a team out looking now with all of our rangers. I was out with them but just came back here to check messages."

"Where could she be?" She was clearly distressed.

"I called her apartment and the sheriff sent a car to check. She's not there and her Toyota is here at the office."

"So, she definitely came to the park at night?"

"I think so."

"Where is she, Boyd? What do I tell my parents? They'll be worried sick ... her boyfriend also."

"She talks about all of you and about Kamm. She's a very loving person, Nicky. We all want her back quickly and won't sleep until we find her."

"Oh God ... I have to help!"

Search

Boyd left the office when the call ended. The park was closed and all of the ranger staff was helping with the search. The sheriff's office sent every available resource and the state sent its water rescue team. It was a rescue mission now. It had to be. Nobody was calling it a recovery mission. If Amanda was taken by poachers, maybe there'd be a ransom demand. Everyone who knew her would donate. Why her? She was the best of them; why would someone take her? Boyd processed every scenario he could imagine. He didn't want to think the swamp had gotten her: she was too smart for that. If she'd been hurt, maybe a trespasser had taken her for medical help. The sheriff was checking all hospitals.

The search area was near where the SUV was now parked. Dozens of people in hip boots prodded with sticks in the marshy water. It made Boyd sick to watch. God, I hope they don't find her that way.

The search continued all day in widening circles. Boyd couldn't imagine Amanda running or being pulled so far out into the muck and mire, but they had to look -- nothing could be left to chance. Several civilian volunteers had joined the search after hearing about it on the radio.

By nightfall, storm clouds blackened the area and lightning threatened. The search was called off until morning. Boyd hadn't eaten all day. He was sick to his stomach just thinking about Amanda out there, alone, cold, maybe wet and hurt. She was tough, he imagined her as a real fighter, but the swamp could defeat anyone. He stayed at the office all night, only returning to his rental house for a shower and change of clothes. He grabbed a box of granola bars and returned to the station awaiting the sunrise. Sometime before dawn, he fell asleep on the office floor. He fought it, but there was no point while the nighttime storm raged. He would need the energy in a couple hours. Why Amanda, of all people, why not me?

At dawn, searchers began arriving. The Governor had also sent National Guard troops along with state police to help. Boyd had been on the scene as the first rays of light broke across the horizon. By midday, the sheriff was obviously frustrated. He didn't have to say anything. Boyd could see it in his movements and discussions with the searchers. It would end today. Boyd didn't believe in miracles, but wanted one now. Several times he had to stop and reflect that she wasn't his daughter. But Amanda had been his personal recruit. All the other rangers had been there before him or transferred from other locations. He had brought Amanda into the service. She was his responsibility.

As night approached, discouragement showed on everyone's face. Most had never met Amanda, but they all felt a connection to her now. Deputy Taylor was leading the sheriff's team. His eyes were low when he approached, brushing his wide-brimmed hat against his pant leg. "I'm sorry Boyd, we gotta call this off. We can't keep searching forever; we all got other things to do. She just isn't here."

Boyd couldn't disagree. "Thanks Mike, it's not easy for me, but you're right. I just don't want to think she's gone. Maybe something will come up ... I know it will, just ... I hope it's not too late."

The Deputy put his hand on Boyd's shoulder then turned and whistled, a loud high-pitched shrill, ending the search.

An hour later, Boyd was in the office with a few other rangers who knew Amanda. None wanted to let go. There were countless "what if" scenarios coming out, but none explained her disappearance for two full days now. They were all exhausted and departed alone or in pairs until Boyd was alone, ready to lock up and head home, exhausted and nearly collapsing. He considered lying on the floor again, but knew there would be no peace with reporters coming by, looking for a scoop. He wouldn't be able to sleep at home either, but he wanted privacy. He wanted to talk to his daughters. More than anything, he wanted to hold them and tell them how much he loved them. He closed the station door and locked it just as a small silver sedan pulled into the park entrance. The driver was a woman. She parked nearby and opened the door. Boyd knew her immediately as she approached. Nicky Bryant looked exactly like her younger sister.

The News

Boyd felt rejuvenated meeting her. It was a horrible reason, but it pleased him nevertheless. He worried: did she blame him for Amanda's disappearance? He'd put Amanda on the night rotation, like all the other rangers. She wasn't treated any differently. If there was any danger, they all shared it. He would never have knowingly put Amanda in a bad situation. He didn't want to be responsible for any of his people being hurt, but Amanda especially.

Nicky had flown all day through various airports to get there. She'd left in a rush, knowing her mother wouldn't mind taking care of Millie for a while. Nicky had reserved a room at the Holiday Inn, but she came to the park first, to see where her sister worked, where she might still be. Boyd was bone tired but suggested a nearby shrimp and bar-b-que restaurant to talk without being rushed and to get some much-needed food.

"How was your flight?" It was as good an intro question as any.

"It was fine, just seemed to take forever. I felt so helpless not being here. Amanda and I are close, closer than a lot of sisters. I needed to be here and there just isn't any direct way from the northeast."

Boyd imagined how dreadful the tip had been. "Yeah, I know. Amanda and I talk occasionally about visiting our families. My girls are in California and there's no way to get there directly either. I can sometimes go through Houston or Dallas with a single plane change, but it still takes too long."

Boyd explained about the search that had just ended. He was hopeful since Amanda wasn't found in the swamp. They ate without talking much more. Neither knew what to say without speculating into scary scenarios, which neither of them was lucid enough to discuss. That would come soon and they both knew it \-- neither wanted to talk about it now. They both just wished she'd appear at their table with some lame excuse for worrying them. It didn't happen.

Meanwhile, Taylor had returned to the parish hall for a quick check of messages, entering the building just as the dispatcher was calling for the medical examiner to attend to a body found alongside the highway, near the Rockefeller Refuge. He listened, then drove to the location. Even though another deputy had taken the call, Taylor had a sinking feeling that it was his case. Soon after he arrived, his hunch proved correct.

The body had been discovered by a motorist who stopped along a road near New Orleans to take photos of the sunset. That location along the edge of the park was a shallow marsh almost a quarter mile wide, miles away from the search location. When Taylor arrived, the highway department was setting up construction lights. The first trooper on scene had established the crime scene perimeter, keeping everyone away. The press would arrive soon enough and forensic clues needed to be protected. As Taylor got closer to the water's edge, he saw the mostly-submerged body of a girl, a young woman with uniform pants and boots rising above the surface onto the shore. The rest of her body was submerged, but shallow enough to see that she had long brown hair. Her eyes were open, staring blankly up at everyone on the higher ground above. He could see that she was pretty, even in death. It took the ME several minutes to photograph the area and remove the body, which was stiff and pale-white from rigor mortis and water-soaked skin. The water had cleansed any debris that might have been on her body, but there were visible scrapes and superficial cuts on her face and hands, like she had tumbled down a cliff or tried to claw her way out of a cage. He told the ME about a suspicion of kidnapping and murder if it was the missing ranger (he was sure of it), so he wanted a complete examination to determine the cause of death. He now needed to make a call that he regretted.

Boyd's phone buzzed in his pocket and he looked ominously at the display, "Sheriff."

"Hello." He listened for almost a minute without looking at Nicky across the table. "Yeah, I understand. Yeah, we'll be over directly ... I'll explain when we get there." He didn't want to say anything aloud about "her sister" during the dialogue with Taylor when asked to come identify a body.

Nicky sensed the purpose of the call without asking. Shock overtook her as her gaze fell momentarily before placing her napkin on the plate. Boyd found the waitress for the bill.

Morgue

It took about twenty minutes to arrive at Memorial Hospital. Boyd and Nicky didn't speak in the car. The Sheriff's car was already there and Taylor was waiting in the lobby. He met them at the entrance. He shook hands with Jassop, "Thanks for coming so soon."

Nicky just stood rigidly as Jassop introduced her. "Sheriff Taylor, this is Nicole Bryant, Amanda Bryant's sister."

Taylor touched the rim of his hat. He recognized the striking resemblance to the girl now resting in the morgue. "Thank you for coming, Ms. Bryant." He really didn't know what else to say. "Would you excuse us a minute?" He gestured for Jassop to step away for a private discussion. She didn't try to hear what they were discussing; there was only one thing important to her.

Taylor stood close to Jassop speaking in a low voice. "Look Boyd, I think you should do the identification."

"How bad is it?"

"Her face is okay and we'll keep the rest covered, but she was under water awhile and ... well, she doesn't look completely normal."

Boyd didn't really know what to expect. He'd never been asked to identify a corpse before, but he trusted Taylor now. He just nodded and returned to Nicky. "The sheriff thinks it would be best if I did this. You should probably wait here in the lobby."

"No! I want to see my sister." She was trembling but determined.

Both men stood silently for a few moments before Boyd looked at Taylor. "Okay then. Lead the way, deputy." Jassop was getting a sense of Nicky's fortitude. Amanda had been tough and so was her sister.

They all walked together with Taylor leading through several sets of double glass doors. After a curve at the end of the longest corridor, there was a solid door marked "Morgue." Taylor reached for the handle but spoke before opening. "Okay. We don't have any special way to do this. Inside here's where the medical exams take place on the deceased. The bodies are covered and the ME will just show you the face when you're ready."

Boyd nodded and Nicky stood rigidly beside him, saying in a low voice, "Let's go in."

The windowless room inside was small, serving as an operating station when needed and no cadavers were being processed. The ME had a nametag on her white lab coat: Krista Marcs, RN. Taylor introduced everyone as they stood together beside the steel table, opposite the ME. Nicky wasn't able to acknowledge any of it. She just stared at the sheet covering the body. The proportions were right. Marcs said, "If you're ready, I'll show you her face."

Both men stood quietly while Nicky said something in a low voice and nodded weakly.

The ME gently pulled back the sheet and Amanda's face was revealed. Nicky's tears gushed as she stroked her sister's hair. The resemblance was unmistakable. Boyd was relieved that Amanda looked almost normal, peaceful, like she was sleeping and might open her eyes at any moment. He put an arm around Nicky's shoulder and indicated that they'd seen enough. He nudged her gently, but she didn't want to move immediately, stricken with grief, and unwilling to leave her sister on the cold metal table. After a pause, he was able to lead her out of the room. He had signaled to Taylor that it was, indeed, Amanda's body.

Next

"I need to take her home." She sat in the passenger seat of his truck, staring out the window, staring at nothing.

Boyd was lost for words. They both grieved, but he could only imagine how Nicky was feeling. Amanda had talked about her big sister. He hoped his daughters would share the same kind of love. He was angry toward whoever killed Amanda – there was no doubt in his mind that she was murdered. "I can manage it from this end." He paused briefly then continued, "I want to come to the funeral, if it'll be okay."

She wasn't too responsive. "Sure."

The body was released the next day and Nicky had made reservations to fly home after Boyd helped arrange Amanda's transportation through a local funeral home that knew the procedure. Nicky had called her parents after identifying the body. They were heartbroken. Amanda had followed her passion for animals to her death. She would never have a family of her own, never know the joy of having children and growing old surrounded by grandchildren. It wasn't fair; premature death is never fair, but it usually happened to other people, strangers. Why Amanda? Why would anyone want to hurt such a beautiful person ... there was no explanation. There never would be. To her parents, the void she'd left would never be filled. Her father, Alex Bryant, made the call that afternoon that no father wants to make. He called their priest and started the process of bringing Amanda home for burial. The transport coffin would arrive at Manchester Municipal Airport in New Hampshire, and Nicky's parents were arranging its transport by a funeral home near them. It was a solemn time for everyone. Boyd didn't see Nicky again before she departed. She had promised to send him the funeral information.

He made flight plans to Portland, Maine, the following day without waiting to hear from Nicky. Some of the other Rangers also wanted to attend the funeral, but the cost was high on short notice, and headquarters in Washington would arrange to have local rangers attending. Boyd packed his dress uniform and departed the following day.

Two days later, he was at the Saint Joseph Cathedral as hundreds of family and friends arrived. The church was huge -- it needed to be. Amanda was loved by so many people around the Northeast. A dozen other Forest Service Rangers were there for respect, in dress uniforms, like Boyd. The Forestry Chief from headquarters also attended. Amanda had been killed in the line of duty and the attendance by department people was appropriate. Boyd introduced himself to the Chief and she asked him to introduce her to the family after the service.

Boyd had never attended a funeral with an honor guard before. After the service, he accompanied the Chief to meet Nicole, who introduced them to her parents and Amanda's boyfriend. Amanda had talked often about Kamm and their plans for the future, or, at least, their plan to make plans for the future. Now there was no future for them. Everyone exchanged pleasantries and there wasn't really anything else to talk about. None of the rangers knew any of the local people and Boyd had only met Nicky under distressed circumstances. He left for the airport immediately after the service.

Boyd departed Maine that afternoon. He'd been invited to a family reception but had opted out. He felt out of place among the family and loved ones. Amanda was gone, at rest, and there was nothing more he could do there.

The following day, he was on the phone in the office. "What do you mean, Taylor ... jurisdiction? Amanda was murdered in your parish. How can you not have jurisdiction?"

"It's federal land and she's a federal agent, Boyd. That makes it your case."

"We're not cops. Do you really want the Feds taking it over? Look, I plan to be in this regardless of who's in charge. I just want to know who the main toe-stomper is."

"Yeah, well, so do we all at the Parish hall. We could bring the state folks in for support, but they're busy on other murder cases, and we don't want the Sheriff's office tarnished for not solving this thing. Better to let the fed boys take it over." Taylor cringed saying it. He had orders from the Sheriff. He didn't like it, but his boss had given him a direct order.

"Look, I just want to know that someone's got the ball on this."

"Then I suggest you call Washington and find out who it is."

Within hours of arriving back in southern Louisiana, Boyd was on the phone to headquarters. It was rare for a park ranger to be murdered on duty and even rarer for the local law offices to back away from the case. But sheriffs are elected and they don't like to fail at anything if they don't have any clues and can throw blame on others.

Boyd was livid. What the hell, I'm calling the Chief directly! He didn't connect with the Chief, but was referred to the FBI Special Agent in Charge (SAC) in New Orleans, Dan Ramos. He knew Ramos from a seminar they'd attended together.

After pleasantries and discussion about federal engagement, both agreed that the FBI should lead the investigation of Amanda's murder.

Boyd said, "Dan, I don't know your job, but all of us at the park want to help any way we can."

"Appreciate that Boyd, I suspected we'd get this one, and I'll get a couple agents down there right away. We know the Sheriff's folks, and there won't be any resistance from them."

Boyd thought, Resistance, hell, how about simple cooperation!

The following morning, two FBI Agents, Michelle McAndrew and Adam Maimon, came to the park office.

Boyd showed them both the sites where the SUV was found and where her body was located. McAndrew was the lead investigator.

"So, your theory is that she came across a trespasser or multiple perps and was overpowered. But why was her body so far away? You got any theories?"

"No. There's no reason why they just didn't leave her here if they killed her. Moving her body off the levee and dumping her along the highway by the park doesn't make sense. Maybe she struggled and tried to get away, or maybe there was some kind of disagreement after she was taken ... something between the kidnappers or with her."

"The autopsy report doesn't narrow the time of death well enough to help much. She had a fractured skull from a blunt object used multiple times. That's what killed her. There wasn't any sign of her being tied up although there were a lot of bruises."

Boyd had an idea. "You know, we might have some video."

The agents looked at him.

He continued, "We have wildlife cameras around the park to catch animals at night, mostly for research reasons. Most of them are good at night."

Maimon said, "Hasn't been any moonlight. We used them in Iraq and you need some kinda light."

"Yeah, well, it might not be much good, but these things have surprised me before. Besides, there are probably vehicle lights or flashlights. If someone passed one of the cameras with lights on, then we might see something."

Boyd called the office with his portable radio and told the rangers to collect all of the cameras along the levee road. Within minutes, rangers returned to the office with twelve small wildlife cameras. They were lucky that video was stored for eight days, long enough to include Amanda's shift. Using two computer terminals, it didn't take long to isolate the video from the night she disappeared. It took a few more minutes to recognize her SUV in some of the frames as it passed by. In earlier sections, another pickup was seen passing some of the same cameras. None of the cameras showed the incident where Amanda disappeared, but there were no other vehicles recorded. The pickup had to be the bad guys.

After isolating all of the sequences with the pickup, it was hard to make out the license plate from the rear of the truck. In some cases the angle was wrong or the distance too far or the light above the plate was too bright, blinding the camera. The dirty plate made it even more difficult. But when several frames were compared from different cameras, they could make out most of it. It looked like a Louisiana license plate. The first three letters were KJB, clearly, but the numbers were hard to read. The first one appeared to be 5. The "Dodge" name on the tailgate was clear.

McAndrew said, "We'll get these videos to our lab at Quantico who can probably figure out the plate numbers."

Nicole

The following night, Boyd was leaving the driving range after smacking 75 balls in different directions, mostly out of control. He needed an outlet. He'd always wanted to play golf and the range gave him something to do after dinner most nights. He wasn't any good and promised himself to take some lessons when he could afford it. For now, he used the old clubs he'd bought off Craigslist and learned by watching other people swing. He'd never played on a course and didn't know any other golfers, so, for now, hitting a basket of balls was cheap entertainment. He was getting better, but not much.

His phone buzzed and he saw Nicky's number. "Hello."

"Hey, I'm back."

"Ah ... back?"

"Yep, just landed an hour ago. I moved into Amanda's apartment. I just called the Sheriff's impound yard and will get her car tonight."

"Well, this is a surprise. Are you moving here permanently?"

"No. I cancelled my client appointments for a while. Hopefully, I won't lose many if this goes on too long."

He hesitated. "Too long for what?"

"You know, I'm gonna be here to help catch Amanda's killer."

Boyd sat at an empty picnic table, "Ah, Nicky, what do you think you can do? You do know that the FBI is handling the investigation, don't you? They don't need our help."

Nobody, including Boyd, knew the strength of her bond to Amanda. Nicole had been through some rough times and Amanda had always been there for her. It had been the same thing when Amanda, the younger sister, had problems growing up. All kids go through rough times and Nicole had always been Amanda's savior. The bond was mutual and unbreakable. With Amanda's murder, Nicole wasn't letting go until they had someone behind bars.

She had never before agreed with the death penalty. How could civilized people condone legalized murder of human beings? That had always been her firm conviction. Amanda had felt the same way. Now, with Amanda gone, Nicky wasn't sure how she felt.

"I don't know, and I don't care, Boyd. These things can take years with all the legal red tape and how prosecutors don't prosecute. I can't just sit around, doing people's hair, seeing my parents grieve, and know that the search could take years. At least if I'm here, I can feel like I'm doing something. Amanda would do it for me, and I don't want to let her down."

Boyd wanted to make a point. "Nicole, Nicky, first of all, I would be surprised if it only took a month. Secondly, nobody's gonna let you get involved in the investigation. It just isn't done."

"I don't believe that. I'm family, I'm her sister, they'll, at least, tell me what's happening if I want to know. What kind of bureaucrats wouldn't even talk to me?"

"Look, maybe I'm wrong, but still, they aren't going to want you muddling in things."

"I don't plan to muddle. I plan to help."

"Doing what? You don't have any experience or credentials, and you certainly don't know anything about people down here. Hell, I'm just getting to know a little about the culture here, and that's after three years. These folks are different. It's not only the French law model and their funny way of speaking, it's also the south. They don't take kindly to Yankees meddling in their affairs. You're a northerner with no ties here."

"Amanda was also a Northerner."

"Okay, look, you know what I mean." He paused and brushed his hair back from his forehead, covered in sweat from the perpetual humidity. He finally offered, "Look, let me take you to breakfast tomorrow. Maybe I can't talk you out of this foolishness, but I am on your side."

Breakfast

Momma James's Cajon Bar-B-Que wasn't the kind of place most people expected to serve breakfast. Nicky met Boyd there at eight. She was smiling. "I know things are different down here, but the name of this place and my idea of breakfast don't exactly go together."

The paper placemat had no fewer than fifty different breakfast combinations listed: all huge, all with eggs and grits, and all unhealthy by any standards of informed society. Boyd chuckled. "Well, there aren't many other places to go near the park and Momma's only clientele are locals, probably because nobody would expect breakfast to be served here." He gestured to the obese woman in the kitchen. "She's been here for thirty years."

"She looks like she eats here, too."

"Yeah, well, welcome to Louisiana, heart attack capital of the world. Locals swear they have the best cardio docs, because they get so much practice. Early heart failure is considered a 'natural cause' for death here."

Nicole tried to order a poached egg and fruit bowl, but got such a blank stare from the waitress that she went with a bowl of grits and orange juice.

Boyd smiled when his "All American" arrived with more food than they could have eaten together. "I always like the sound of this until I can't finish half of it. I should know better with people starving in Africa."

She grinned briefly. "So, what have the police found out?"

"By police, you're referring to our little Parish Sheriff's office? What they found is nothing, because they're not involved. The FBI has the case. I guess I'm involved some as a federal officer, but I don't know if I'm really in the loop."

"So, who's leading this?"

"There's an FBI Agent Michelle McAndrew. It's her case. I gave them some video two days ago to send to their lab at Quantico. We saw a pickup from the wildlife cameras, and they may be able to get the license number. Their lab guys need to do some slick video processing to read it."

"So, you can actually see the truck Amanda was following?"

"We saw a truck in the video ahead of Amanda. That's it. We don't know any more than that. The cameras were set up for watching nests and gator crossings, not for security. It doesn't show much, so we can't be sure the truck had anything to do with Amanda, but it's a lead."

"Can I talk to the Agent?"

Containment

"I don't care what you think; you already fucked this up bad enough." The Big Man – nobody knew his real name -- was speaking to Johnny Jagneaux on the CB radio. "We had a good deal going here, and your man screwed it up."

Jagneaux tried being defiant. "Well, it sure can't happen again since Leroy's dead. He was always dependable."

"So, for now on, you do all the pickups yourself ... comprende? No gophers!"

Jagneaux didn't like the idea of sitting in some desolate swamp at night, waiting for the packages to arrive. They could be hours late or early depending on weather. Even the time to fly from the boat to shore wasn't precise with the wind pushing the drones around. Sitting in a tidal swamp all night with natural and even human scavengers frightened him. Now the Big Man was ordering him around like some low-life and thought he was making all the decisions.

Jagneaux said, "Okay, now I don't like that idea ... not one bit. My ass is on the line out there. I don't fancy getting' caught by some sheriff waitin' in the weeds."

"You're making big money, so keep to yourself."

"Hell, I'm taking all the risk. I'm the guy that could get caught. My buyers are animals. You got any idea how dangerous that is? If they's to figure out how I get the product, I'd be worse than Leroy. Those crips don't give mercy."

"Then, I suggest you do your part carefully. You gotta stay close to the coast; that's the criteria. The drones need to make it from outside US waters and then return to mother without killing their batteries. Fifty miles max each way if not fighting wind."

"They could fly into New Orleans! I can find lotsa places to land in secret."

"No. they can't cross over land more than one mile. If something goes wrong with a bird, we don't want it goin' down over land; better to land in the ocean and sink. We also need to keep the flight short, low and slow to avoid radar."

Jagneaux was exasperated and he knew the drone could land in his back yard if programmed to do it. Hell, Amazon can deliver to my front porch! "Look, Mr. I-don't-know-your-name, I paid for these drones to be built my way -- all four of them. You didn't pay one dime. I bought the fishing boat and hired the crew. I buy the product and pay all the expenses. Then I gotta deal with those fucking gang bangers, which could get me killed! Then, you and I meet in secret places only when you want, and you tell me the rules! You don't have any risk but you get twenty percent of my profits ... how can you fuckin' tell me to do anything? I could just tell you to go fuck yourself!"

"Calm down, Johnny. I told you when we first met how this would work. You fuck with me even a little and your ass is in jail or maybe dead if the bangers get to you first. You got no product without me. Just consider me your insurance policy."

License Plate

It was difficult following Boyd back to the office during the storm. The tropical depression over the gulf caused gale-force winds, and the rain was a solid wall at times. The Toyota's wipers couldn't keep up. Nicky pressed speed dial on her phone, concentrating on the tail lights ahead. "Boyd, I can't see a thing, shouldn't we stop?"

"Naw, the shoulders are all flooded. We need to keep going. Someone could hit you from behind if you stop. We're almost there, so just keep watching my tail lights." His truck sat high above the road, which he drove every day and could navigate without seeing it. Amanda's small Toyota didn't belong out in this weather.

It took eight or nine minutes to travel two more miles to the park office. It seemed farther to Nicky, trying to focus on his tail lights and ignoring everything else, even when the big trucks threw enough water to bury her car. She'd never experienced rainfall like this. It terrified her, but she was determined to keep up with him.

The parking lot at the office was partially submerged. The electrical storm was the most violent she'd ever seen, and she wanted to stay in the car until it passed. But Boyd knocked on her window. "Come on, let's get inside." She protested, but it went unheard as he pulled the door open, holding his large umbrella that looked like it would sail away at any moment. "Come on, hurry!"

Nicky's sneakers were buried under water as they ran for the door a few feet away. Thankfully, the office was unlocked by the ranger inside. The rangers wore rubber boots and plastic hat covers. Boyd was soaked in the exposed areas, but Nicky was dripping like a cat in a dishwasher. At least there wasn't any risk of pneumonia in the oppressive heat and humidity.

She shook as much from fear as from dampness, waving her arms. "What is this? Are we going to die in this hurricane?"

The two rangers grinned. Boyd answered, "Nicky, welcome to Louisiana. This is a normal summer storm here ... no hurricane, just a little depression causing some wind and dumping water on us. It's why everything's so green. Don't you love it?" In fact, the levee road was awash as the tidal water rose and wind blew the surf ashore. Swamp grass was laid sideways and would stay that way until the storm passed.

"How long will this last?"

"Oh, probably not more than twenty or thirty minutes. Then watch, steam will rise from the road, birds will start squawking and the smell of moss and mold will permeate your senses."

"Terrific, I can't imagine life here before air conditioning." She sat on a plastic chair in a corner by the coatrack, removing her sneakers.

During the drive from breakfast, Boyd had called the FBI office in New Orleans for an update. His message went to voice mail. Now, standing in a water puddle inside the office, his phone buzzed. Agents McAndrew and Maimon would drive to the park office when the storm cleared with some news. Despite the heat and humidity, everyone inside the office was chilly from the air conditioning and drank coffee, waiting for the agents.

To Boyd's surprise, deputy Taylor arrived. Boyd greeted him from behind his desk without standing. "Howdy, Mike, what brings you here? The park is closed for weather."

"Howdy to you, Boyd. I got a call from the feds about some news in the case of your dead ranger, so figured I'd come to hear it."

"I thought you weren't interested anymore?"

"Oh, I'm interested all right, just can't get the Sheriff involved, as we talked before, you know, politics and all."

"Yeah, I understand. By the way, you'll remember ranger Bryant's sister." Boyd gestured toward Nicky, sitting in the corner, unseen when the deputy entered. "Maybe you can explain to her why you're not involved."

Taylor hadn't seen her in the corner and turned color, momentarily off balance. "Ah ... Well, howdy." He remembered her from the morgue. "I'm Mike Taylor, Deputy Sheriff from Cameron Parish." He tipped his hat.

Nicky walked over and shook the tall man's hand. "Well, deputy, I'm just the grieving sister who IS involved despite 'politics and all'." She gave him a rigid stare and a firm handshake, much firmer than he expected from a woman."

"Pleased to meet you in a better setting." Taylor wasn't very convincing. "Say, Jassop, you got anything to drink, I'm feeling a little parched at the moment." Boyd indicated the water cooler and Taylor moved quickly to escape more dialogue.

The deputy was younger than Boyd, about Nicky's age. He wasn't comfortable making excuses for the Sheriff's office. He was just telling the truth about his boss, a career bureaucrat, and didn't think about political correctness. Until two years earlier, he'd been stationed in Afghanistan with his National Guard unit as a military policeman. Diplomacy wasn't part of the job description there, although he'd been improving as a civilian. He made some lame excuse and said he'd wait in his car, obviously embarrassed.

The FBI arrived a short while later, and Taylor returned from his cruiser. It wasn't just that the woman had been so matter-of-fact, she obviously had brains and beauty that he might not be able to handle. Most of the women he'd met so far in Louisiana were cute but silly and dull.

McAndrew and Maimon sat on one side of the small conference table with Boyd and Nicky opposite them. Taylor stood back. Boyd opened, "Agents, this is Nicole Bryant, sister of the murder victim." Nicky found it disquieting that Amanda was referred to as the "murder victim."

McMaster was a tall woman, nearing middle-age. After twenty years at the Bureau, and stationed in New Orleans for three years, she'd put on considerable weight but was still physically fit. Her salt-and-pepper hair looked like it was cut, military style, at a man's barber. She had a masculine quality about her, probably due to her profession. She led the discussion, first addressing Nicky. "We're sorry for your loss, Ms. Bryant." Then she continued, looking at Nicky, all business. "It's unusual having next-of-kin involved in a confidential meeting, so Ms. Bryant, I'll trust you to keep this information private. We want this kept away from the public for now."

Nicky just nodded, looking directly at the Agent.

"Well, here we go." She opened a folder and produced a large glossy picture, which she passed around. "The lab techs were able to improve the image quality and combine frames from some cameras to see the complete license plate. It turns out that it belongs to the sister of a Mr. Leroy DeBlanc from around New Orleans. He's had some petty criminal convictions and doesn't have a valid address of his own, but apparently lived with his sister."

Nicky interrupted ... "lived?"

McMaster remained expressionless. "Yes. Now, here's an interesting piece, Mr. DeBlanc is deceased recently. He was tortured and murdered two nights ago. The body was in this truck."

Boyd responded first. "Wow, that's a lot to digest. First, my ranger gets murdered and then the guy who might have killed her gets murdered. How does that fit together?"

Nobody seemed to have any theories.

Nicky was anxious, addressing McMaster. "So why did this guy DeBlanc kill Amanda?"

"Well, we don't know that he did it, nor do we know if there is any connection."

Taylor remained silent and Boyd said what all were thinking, "Oh, come on. There's got to be a connection ... two people in the same remote location, both killed on the same night. That's no coincidence."

"Look, Boyd, I might agree with you on one level, but we're about putting pieces together that a prosecutor can use in court. Coincidence doesn't work. We don't know the connection, or even if there is one, but, for the moment, let's assume there is. In my years with the Bureau, I've learned that assumptions are risky. They can send us down rat holes without end until someone pulls our tail out without solving any crime. We're trying to determine the connection."

Taylor ask, "So who's this guy's sister? Do you know anyone else that knows what DeBlanc was up to?"

"Obviously, we will be talking to his sister but I'm not at liberty to tell you about her. We don't want any freelancing." She glanced at Nicky, then away. "We don't have much on him yet but we know he was a masonry contractor, at least part time. That's all we know now."

Impression

She'd been sitting, taking notes all morning. Boyd had suggested lunch with her and Taylor after the FBI left, but Nicky needed to get out of the damp clothes she'd worn for hours. She'd been hot and sticky all day and, oddly, the warm shower at her sister's place felt good, like a sticky coating rinsing away. Just standing in the warm wet stream was enough to refresh her. She shampooed her long brown hair to let it dry in the cool, dry air conditioning inside Amanda's apartment.

It was comfortable in the little one-room studio with the window A/C unit, working fine. It removed the humidity. She put on a light robe and rummaged through the refrigerator for something to eat. Sister, didn't you ever food shop? Lunch consisted of grapes and corn flakes. She would need to find a market later in the day, but first, she just wanted to relax inside, away from the drippy furnace outside. How can people stand living here? She also needed to unpack; but more immediately, she needed to put a plan together. Boyd was right in a way – why had she come?

After an hour or so, Nicky felt re-energized. She wasn't packing up and running home because some government pencil pusher told her to stay away. The admonishment from the FBI Agents didn't mean anything. They didn't know her. She wasn't staying in Maine, expecting the FBI to find the killer. They had to follow rules and could take years and maybe never solve the crime. There was no assurance that they'd ever get a conviction the way the courts work. She knew it. They were still looking for Hoffa. She'd watched enough "Most Wanted" episodes to realize how easily criminals escape justice. It wasn't going to happen this time. One way or another, with the feds or not, the killer was going down. She didn't have any law enforcement experience or any other resources except the internet, but she wasn't going to leave justice to strangers. If they got the guy for real, she'd applaud them, but it didn't feel right for her to stay back. Her sister had been killed!

Sister, I hope you don't mind if I use your clothes. Nicky couldn't help feeling guilty about sorting through Amanda's drawers and closet. She needed lighter-weight things to wear, lighter than she'd brought from up north. The girls had been exactly the same size. When Amanda was away in college and Nicky was struggling financially to overcome the aftermath of a failed marriage, Amanda let her use her things. Now, alone in this foreign state, she could use Amanda's wardrobe again. It felt like an intrusion. She picked a light t-shirt and jeans. She could also wear Amanda's running shoes. She paused, sitting on the edge of the bed. Then it happened ... she couldn't stop sobbing, thinking about her beautiful, caring, perfect little sister. How could anyone ever kill such a sweet girl?

Nicky wasn't as emotional as she'd once been. She'd had enough heartbreaking experiences to learn how to manage her emotions. But at that moment, sitting in Amanda's apartment, she couldn't help it. She thought of Amanda in these same clothes -- these were hers. They'd touched her body. She'd picked these clothes because they made her look the way she wanted to look. She'd been beautiful, but she would never wear these clothes again.

Later, dressed and ready, she thought about calling Jassop but didn't really know why. He'd been her initial contact person and he seemed interested in assisting, but his hands were tied. The FBI had the case. He was a fed and he wasn't part of the investigation except to help with any clues from the park. Taylor was a question mark. What was his role? If the case was solved, the Cameron Parish Sheriff would get some credit, but the deputy was clear that they weren't leading it. It left Nicky wondering who she was really working with. The FBI didn't want her meddling ... and it was their case. In reality, she was alone, a "freelancer" as they'd said. She'd been warned to stay away from it. She dialed the number on his card and he answered, "Taylor."

It was a short drive from Amanda's apartment to the Parish hall. The Toyota was out of place on the roads, everyone seemed to drive big pickup trucks. Amanda had told her that the men worked in oil fields and offshore drilling rigs, and all drove trucks. The damage from several hurricanes was still evident with many homes and businesses boarded up. The Sheriff's office was in a small single-floor building sharing the parking lot with other parish offices. Taylor was standing in his cubicle when she came through the glass doors, passing from the steamy outside world into the relative comfort inside. She saw him and he waved her over. "Hi again, let's go to our interrogation room to talk." She guessed he didn't want anyone else listening.

They passed by a small windowless room, about the size of her closet back home, with a microwave and refrigerator. He said, "Let's get us a water." Maybe a little hospitality would soften her impression of him. They hadn't hit it off earlier, and it bothered him. He wasn't the cold-hearted dick he'd portrayed. He wasn't that guy, but sometimes statements come out wrong or out of sync with the circumstances. As a local law officer he wanted to help find the killer, but it was a federal case, and they didn't want his meddling. The parish often needed federal and state help, for forensics or special information, so they deferred to the higher authority when asked to step aside. At least that's the way he interpreted his position. He handed her a chilled water bottle from the fridge, "You wanna glass?"

She smiled at him. "Nope, this is good, thanks."

The meeting room was beside the "kitchen."

He closed the door, and they sat opposite each other across a table that was too large for the tiny space. Taylor began. "If you don't mind, I'd like our discussion private and off the record. I've been here two years, and I'm still learning how things are done. My boss, the Sheriff, is elected, and it's not like the military where I was trained as a CID officer."

"CID?"

"Criminal Investigation Division." When she still didn't comprehend, he continued. "After two years in junior college I was sick of living on our farm and I enlisted in the Army National Guard. I had been paying for school under an ROTC scholarship, studying Police Science. It seemed like the right kind of job for me in the military."

"How long were you in?"

"I spent five years active."

"Overseas?"

"Some – about half of it. A couple tours as military police, mostly investigating assaults on civilians. Back stateside, I got involved in domestic stuff and traffic duty. All in all, it had enough variety to help me get this job. I always wanted to be a cop, and as a southern boy, Cameron was the best option I could find in my part of the country."

"You don't have the same accent that I've been hearing since I got here. Of course, none of the rangers or FBI are from here either, so I haven't heard too much of the native speakers."

"Yeah, well, I'm from east Texas, a small town near Houston, only a couple hundred miles from here. Around here, they have a Cajon twang; it's kinda unique."

He didn't seem to be hurried and Nicky didn't really know where to go next with the discussion. One-on-one with deputy Taylor was pleasant, not what she'd expected after the morning meeting. She figured he'd been nervous around the feds and maybe embarrassed a little after their rough introduction.

She smiled. "Thanks for sharing that."

"Well, um ..." He cleared his throat. "What can I help you with?" He was to the point, but not pushy.

"I came down here to help find my sister's killer, which probably sounds stupid. I guess I really came down here to see what the police were doing. I don't really know what I can do here."

His expression was neutral, but his eyes focused on hers. "You work?"

"Yes, I'm a hair stylist."

"Well, I bet you're pretty good and have some steady folks. Maybe it would be best to let the folks down here do their jobs, and you return to your business. You probably have appointments waiting."

"You trying to get rid of me?"

"Ah, no, not exactly. It's just that I don't think there's anything you can do. Criminal investigations are best left to the pros. You could get into trouble with the law if you start snooping around. You don't have a license to question people or get into private databases."

"I'm not worried about it. I don't have any assets to lose, so I'm not much of a target for lawsuits."

"You'd be surprised. Besides, if this turns out to be about drugs, these are mean dudes, folks you don't want to get close to. You saw what happened to that man in the pickup. That's pretty common lately with the gangs. They've been moving to the gulf states recently with all the heat on the land border with Mexico. The ocean smuggling used to be controlled pretty well, stopping the fast boats, so everything started goin' across land, but it's starting up again. The information lately is that they have some new ways to avoid us even got some submarines."

"Yeah, but I saw what happened to my sister. I can't just forget about it. If it is a drug gang, then she's just another statistic with the FBI among all the thousands killed. She'd barely be a dot on someone's chart, then forgotten in a few years. I'm probably the best person to keep the search alive."

"Ms. Bryant, I don't know what else to say. I really wish I could help, but I can't do anything. And you best not get involved. You could get hurt."

"Call me, Nicky. Gee, deputy, you sound like this could be personal." She couldn't help herself. She was testing him. He was like some of the other men she'd attracted in her past: strong, handsome and unassuming – at least outwardly. She'd shut off the playful part of her personality years ago.

"Ah, I just don't like seeing innocent people murdered." He wasn't blind, she was attractive, but his professional training was in control.

She leaned closer with a stern look. "My sister was innocent."

He sat back and didn't answer immediately. This woman wasn't going away and he really didn't want to see her hurt or killed. "Okay, look, I've tried my best to be honest with you. You need to go home and think about it and I got some other work to do." He curled his toes, thinking about how he'd come across again.

"Back to square one, huh? You really think I'll leave? You don't know me!" She slammed her hand on the table and stood to leave.

"Wait! Wait." He exhaled and placed both hands, palm down, on the table. "Sit down. Please sit down." She did, and he continued. "If I can't talk you out of this, then at least let me give you some kind of protection. You need to stay invisible if you can."

"What about your protocol issues?"

"That won't change ... that can't change. I'd be out of a job quicker than the tide changes." He looked at her for a moment

He was about to say something, when she spoke. "I want the name and address of the truck guy's sister."

"I can't give you that, and besides, we don't have that kind of information in this office."

She leaned forward with just enough cleavage showing to cause him to flinch. "You have all kinds of data that we citizens can't get. I saw you write down the license number." She'd sat through enough testimony at her ex-husband's trials to know that even small precincts could get into the databases. "But, okay. Let's do this a little differently, how about I treat you to some bar-b-que tonight?" Her flirtatious skills were returning.

"What! I can't do that." He wasn't convincing.

"Why, you married?"

"No."

"Steady girl?"

"No."

"Then why not? You're good looking, and, let's just say that you're my kind of guy. I'm attracted to a man in uniform."

"All right, you've broken me down. When and at what time?"

"How about six tonight? Pick me up at my sister's apartment."

"I shouldn't be doing this, and I won't be wearing my uniform. You sure you still want to be seen with me in civies?"

She was enjoying the charade as much as he. "You gonna bring your gun?"

He choked momentarily on a gulp of water. "Ah ..."

"Don't answer that -- see you tonight." She stood, turning slowly, giving him one last look at the cut of her jeans, the same fit as her sister's. Smiling, she left the office, confident that she'd get more from him than a meal tonight.

Dark meet

Jagneaux didn't like it. These west-coasters always seem to find the creepiest places to meet. If there was any moonlight, it was hidden behind storm clouds. He'd been sitting inside his SUV at the abandoned plantation along the bayou for half an hour. Rain poured occasionally, leaving a steamy fog when it subsided, making the place even more eerie. The engine was running, but the doors were locked with all lights out. His head swiveled nervously, searching the area. The men that would come tonight were just mules but unpredictable and dangerous. The real money man, the boss, didn't take chances by coming himself; he sent young idiots to get the product. They would kill him if anything smelled wrong and they'd enjoy it. For reasons he couldn't understand, these sadistic bangers, kids really, loved causing other humans pain.

He felt chilled, despite the oppressive heat. The AC in his luxury SUV worked magnificently. Danger was part of his life, and he'd learned to handle it. After a short time in the drug business, he'd learned to cope. But waiting like this amplified his distress.

There was a flicker of headlights moving along the dirt road through the palmettos. They were coming, driving an old F150 with rust holes in the sides, riding a foot higher than a stock truck ... hardly a stealthy vehicle but fitting for this part of the country. Stopping nearby, two dark-skinned men jumped out of the bed, moving behind Jagneaux's car. He couldn't see them. They would be armed; they always were, either with guns or long knives, or both. He didn't need to confirm it, he'd done it before and nearly been shot.

The tall skinny driver sauntered over and rested his forearm on Johnny's side window sill, gesturing for him to lower the window. "Hey, dude, you got's my goods?" The driver, who was also the leader, slurred his speech. He was high on something.

"In the back like always." Johnny wanted to get this over quickly.

"Open it up, let's look."

"No. How many times have we done this, three – four? I never stiffed you guys. Just give me the money and I'll pop it open and you get it."

"Naw, man, I got's a boss. He says I gotta see the goods and taste em." He sounded like he'd been "tasting" for hours.

"Give me the money first."

The man leaned close, looking pure evil. "You wanna end up like that other mutha-fucker -- do yous? We cut him up slow ... screamed and wiggled all over the place. Me and ma bros, we all hooted, watchin' him crawlin' blind in the dirt in circles, cryin' and screaming fo' his mama.' Each time he come close, we gots to stick him, ever'body got a piece. Took better'n ten minutes, maybe fifteen fo' I sliced his throat. You gonna give us some?"

"Look, if you want the goods to keep comin', you need me for that. Just get the money and I'll leave." If he showed the terror he felt, the real terror, it would encourage them more. His feet were shaking uncontrollably under the dash board.

The driver's breath smelled like road kill from a mouth that had never been to a dentist. Both cheeks had scars and that was just what was visible. Johnny just wanted to be away. It was always the same; they thought it was fun scaring him. They were just bag carriers without getting any of the real money. They took all the risks of being caught or ambushed and were paid little. Inflicting pain and fear was their reward. Johnny knew it. He hated being the subject of it, but it came with the territory. The meetings were always the same. After they had enough of it, and maybe from concern about taking too much time, the torment would end. Scar yelled, "Lips, get the bag."

A short rotund boy, probably fourteen or younger, waddled to the truck cab then back with a sports bag. Scar saw Johnny's look. "You see that there boy. He done cut off that whity's nose. Took two o' us holdin' and him sawin' away, but he got it done. Carry's it 'round in his pocket to show."

Jagneaux pushed the trunk release button without bothering to count the money in the bag. He knew it would be accurate. The boss needed him to keep the supply coming. They'd never screwed him before. He'd count it back home, but not here in the fog surrounded by these monsters. They'd already taken too much time. The time they wasted, bantering, could get them in prison or killed. Jagneaux wanted out of there. Hell, they might as well put up a neon sign inviting the police to find them with all the time these sub-humans wasted.

It was done. The bricks were out. Road gravel flew as Jagneaux floored the accelerator with the tailgate open, spinning dirt and stone debris from tires, fishtailing away. He enjoyed the thought of them ducking and running from it. He worried about the bangers following him to find where he lived. That would never happen. He suspected that Leroy was killed for this reason. Had he told them?

He made it to the paved highway half a minute later, nearly ruining the suspension. There were no lights on the dirt road behind him. He wasn't followed. One of the goons could have put a tracker on his car and he would check at the strip mall in a few minutes, as always. For now, he just had to get away fast, far away. They didn't know how he got the goods, and he wasn't going to let them find out. His life depended on it. The crips wanted a bigger piece of the channel. They wanted to deal directly with his supplier. Jagneaux knew if they did manage to get closer to his suppliers, a war would begin. If the gangs weren't careful, they'd piss off the cartel and all-out war would begin. The loser would be the gangs. The cartel was managed well, massively powerful, and the gangs were illiterate misanthropes -- just plain stupid ... brutal, but stupid. Anyone getting closer to his source would die: it was that simple. Jagneaux's business, his team, provided the necessary separation, an effective buffer that protected the gangs without them even realizing it. They didn't know it, but it was a fact. Leroy had been part of Jagneaux's team. Stupidity had gotten him killed.

Jagneaux could work both sides of the equation. He was okay with the cartel that produced the product because he didn't meddle or play games. That would be sure death. It didn't faze him because the rules were clear and respected by both sides. It was different for the gangs handling distribution in the cities. They only knew one way to control any situation – through brute force ... no elegance. Jagneaux provided the conduit and insulation that made the channel work through separation.

Objectivity

Taylor couldn't stop thinking about her. He was trained to be objective. She wasn't a woman to be pursued, that would be unprofessional, and his profession always came first. Who was he fooling? He knew, objectively, that he needed to avoid being attracted to her. What the fuck, I'm not working on her case. He could approach her anyway he wanted, including on a personal level. She knew it wasn't his case; the feds had made that clear. So, why couldn't he be attracted to her?

He showered and pulled a white knit polo shirt over his 6' 3" sleek tanned body, untucked over slim-fitting jeans. He wasn't ripped any more, but pretty close. He worked out. His BMI would still qualify him for male modelling and any military physical. It wasn't ego. The Army had trained him to stay in top condition. It could be important to his job, his own survival. He hadn't lost it and he still tried to work out at the gym after work, but tonight would be different. He had a date. So, why was he excited? He didn't have trouble getting dates with attractive women, and he enjoyed his freedom as a bachelor. He had a nice apartment, good sound and video equipment, great computer and games, and buddies with like interests. He also had a pilot's license and loved to fly. He recently took up sail planes and sky diving. A serious relationship would interfere too much with his lifestyle. Then why was he excited tonight?

At Amanda's apartment, Nicky was sorting through a combination of her clothes, still folded in her suitcase and some of Amanda's things. Most of Nicky's things were functional, suited to standing and working in the salon all day. She rented a chair in the old colonial building, which could be noisy and the temperature wasn't always regulated well. She had a decent wardrobe for different weather conditions but nothing she brought to Louisiana was for socializing. Her stuff was okay, and she shouldn't need to worry about it for a casual night, hoping to get information surreptitiously from the deputy. But she found herself going through Amanda's clothes. Amanda had worn uniforms for work and the rest of her wardrobe was for having fun. Still, this wasn't supposed to be a "fun" night; this was part of finding a killer. Without pondering the decision, she pulled a low-cut stretch tee and skinny jeans from Amanda's closet.

Her phone buzzed and the display said home. "Hello."

"Hi, honey, I wanted to check in and see how it's all going."

"Oh, fine, Daddy. There are some clues that just need to be put together. The FBI is leading the case."

"Great. They have the best labs in the world; they can solve anything."

"How is Millie; how is mom holding up."

"Oh, they're both fine. Millie misses her mommy, but grandma is keeping her amused. I pitch in and dinner and do some laundry so she doesn't get too exhausted."

"I'm sorry to burden you with her, but it's important that I came here. I don't think much was happening until I showed up."

The conversation covered a few other things about her conditions and plans. Nicky didn't mention that she was meeting with Deputy Taylor in a few minutes.

Her dad finally got around to the purpose for his call. "When you coming home, Nicky? Some of your clients are calling us now at home, wondering when you're coming back?"

"I'm thinking about it, Dad. I need to come back soon, maybe in a week. They won't have it solved by then. I may go back and forth for a while. You know, build up some money, fly to Louisiana and live, then fly back for a refill on cash." The call made her think about a plan. She couldn't stay in Louisiana indefinitely. There wasn't any smoking gun pointing to Amanda's killer.

"Okay, Nicky. Your mother and I love you and want you back with us soon."

It was a strange call. Her mother always called when Nicky was away. Dad was always there, but her mom was usually the talker. It wasn't strange for them to call -- it was expected, but not from her father. They were more worried about her than she had realized. It occurred to her, thinking from their perspective, that they now had only one daughter and a granddaughter with special needs. Amanda had been killed, murdered, in Louisiana, and Nicky was now there. They didn't want to lose her, too.

There was a knock on the door. She whispered to no one, "Shit. I'm not ready." She yelled through the door, "I'm almost ready, be out in a couple minutes."

He answered. "No problem, I'll be in my car."

Back at the park, Boyd Jassop held a meeting at the office with the park rangers at 1800, 6:00 PM. When all were assembled, the group moved outside under the parking lights because the office was too small. "All right, I'll keep this short.

"We have a new policy in place. From now on, you will wear side arms at night ... not just nearby, you will wear them."

Nobody grumbled. Most of them knew Amanda, some as close friends, so they didn't need any more explanation.

Boyd continued. "You all had basic firearms training, but if anyone wants some additional practice, I can arrange it through the Sheriff's office. They use a local range and have a contractor who's a certified instructor."

Some of them seemed interested, but most didn't feel it was necessary.

"For now on, until gates are on all the entrances, we're gonna double up on night shifts. There will be no more patrols after the park closes. The only night patrol will be me.

"If you ever feel in danger in the office at night, protect yourself. Call 911 and then call me. If you ever feel danger during the day in the office or out in the park, protect yourself. Wait for help and keep track of the situation. The Sheriff should respond, and I keep my phone next to me all night. I want you to call me; absolutely, you should call, anytime you feel in danger or need my assistance for anything. I've posted the new duty schedule, so it begins tonight ... any questions?"

Amanda hadn't died for lack of procedures. She'd done everything properly. The rangers were not required to patrol at night, but she'd worried about nests and poachers. She'd cared about the animals. But now, the procedures were modified. It probably wasn't a new threat in reality, but it had proven more dangerous now. Boyd had worked with headquarters and arranged for overtime for the extra hours. He would need additional staff for the night, more than just replacing Amanda. He had already submitted his request.

"Look, we all miss Amanda. She was a good ranger and did her job. In my experience with the park service, I haven't known anyone else ever killed, doing their job. But it happened here. You all know the dangers along the gulf coast with our smuggling problems, so let's make this our wakeup call."

At the apartment, Taylor sat in his topless Jeep Wrangler listening to country music. He drove a Ford pickup to work and on errands, saving his jeep for outings in clear weather. It was hot, so he parked a few feet further away under the shade of a large Southern Pine tree. It gave a little protection from the heat as the sun moved lower in the west.

She lived above an old two-car garage that stood alone across a paved parking area behind the town's only law office. The lower garage level was probably used by the landlord for storage, although the rusted lock looked like he was never around. Nicky had arranged for the rent and utility bills to be sent to Maine. Actually, she'd asked for all mail to be forwarded at the post office and she would handle other bills online while deciding what to do with the apartment. She wasn't planning to stay long, and it was okay for now.

Moments passed, then Taylor watched as she descended the wooden stairs alongside the small building. He'd never known Amanda, but he imagined that the Bryant girls had almost looked like twins. He started the engine to get the A/C blowing. The Jeep's hardtop was removed but the A/C gave a cold breeze.

She smiled as Taylor came around to open the door. He'd put the doors on to block the wind. She smiled. "Wow, the gentleman opens doors for a lady."

"I'm a southern boy ma'am. I was taught this way."

"Well, it's sweet, but old-fashioned."

"So, call me old-fashioned. It won't change me; I'm kinda simple that way."

"I'm thinking I like simple." She smiled while fastening her seatbelt. "So, where're we going?"

"Well, this is Louisiana ... can't get much more southern than this. So, I figure we'll go to a shrimp and bar-b-que restaurant on the ocean, it's a little across the border in Texas, but it's a nice night for a drive, and it'll be cooler as we get going." He smiled at her while shifting into gear.

Mike Taylor was a good driver. Not overly cautious nor a speed demon. Nicky felt comfortable with him. If she had any complaints, it was the wind noise and the way it swirled around her long hair. She moved the seat forward, solving that problem and getting more benefit from the air conditioning, which became less important as the sun went down. "So, Mike, what do you do if it rains?"

He grinned at her ... "Drive faster. It flows right over."

The ride took more than an hour, and they arrived at the restaurant on the Southeastern Texas coast near sunset, providing a gorgeous display over the ocean. It wasn't what she'd expected. She'd had visions of a roadside diner like she'd seen driving around town: grits and crawfish. This was special. They ordered sweet iced tea and enjoyed the rhythm of the waves and the gulls settling before nightfall. She didn't quite know what to think. She didn't know him. To her, he'd been stilted Deputy Taylor only a few hours earlier. Now, he was Mike. He didn't need to tell her; she could sense that he was different. He seemed nice, but hard to figure out. In uniform, he'd been stiff; proper for a law man, he was good in the role. Now, he was someone different, maybe a little quiet or shy, or maybe a little unsure of the situation – she'd invited him. It felt like a date.

"So, Mike, this is nice. Are your intentions with me honorable?"

He smiled at the jibe. "Oh, yes, ma'am, totally." He fingered his glass, assessing what to say next. "Nicky, I meant what I said today in the office, I do want to help you."

"So, when you help people, you drive an hour to some lovely beach setting to talk business?"

"Okay, you got me. I'm human. I could have just spouted protocol and said 'have a nice day' and let you leave. But for a Yank, you intrigue me. I guess I'd like to know about northern girls. Everyone tells me you're different. Heck, is that honest enough? But, it's not exactly what I mean." He felt off balance. "You came down here hurtin' and wantin' justice. That's something I understand. It's not the way a guy like me, a sheriff, should meet a pretty girl, but it happened. I made an ass of myself, and it bothers me. It's not really me. So, I guess I'm conflicted about my professional versus personal reasons for wantin' to know you better, but that's just a fact ... can't change the facts, ma'am. So, I hope that answers the question." He almost seemed apologetic.

"So, I guess you're saying you want to know me, and will help me find my sister's killer for that reason?"

"All right, I can't say it any more plainly, so let's go with your explanation. Is that okay?"

She looked at him kindly but seriously. "Mike, I didn't come here for romance. This isn't a vacation for me, and I need to get back home soon. I'm here for one reason only. Can you understand that?" As she said it, she wasn't sure if she was being completely truthful with herself, or him.

"Sure." He didn't have a clue about what to think.

Operations

Jagneaux was angry. He was the guy in the middle, sandwiched between the supplier and distributor, and both could kill him with no remorse. He was taking risks and paying bills. Things shouldn't be so difficult. He was on the phone as soon as he was home. "I don't give a shit about your social life, turd breath. Get your ass down to my boat; we're taking a ride tonight."

"Johnny, have a heart! It's my anniversary with my girlfriend. We've been together three months and she expects it. I got reservations." Glen Puritz was an overweight gamer and RC pilot who built large custom drones for heavy cameras and other payloads. He'd built four for Jagneaux with the most sophisticated auto piloting components.

"Glen, I don't care if it's her funeral. Hell, I don't care if it's your funeral. All I care about is that the birds need reprogramming and you gotta do it – understand?"

"But, Johnny..."

"Stop now, Glen! If you don't want me showing up on your date and ruining your relationship forever, then you cancel with her. That's it! No excuses..."

Jagneaux was in a bind. His trawler was already fishing in circles in the gulf with a fresh load of product. The crips expected it, and the Big Man was threatening to unravel his whole empire.

Glen pleaded. "Johnny, I showed you how to do it. All you need to do is plug in the umbilical cord to the computer and reprogram the modules."

It really wasn't simple. There were different electronic pieces that controlled the flight profile including speed, battery life, GPS, altitude, course change points, destination, and wind drift compensation. They all needed programming, separately. At the landing spot over land, the drone needed precise instructions for lowering the load, hovering above, compensating for wind. In a worst-case scenario, an operator aboard ship could take over, using radio controls, trying to fly low across the water to avoid radar, but that was only in theory. Nobody had ever flown these expensive drones, especially with their expensive cargo. The drones needed to locate the ship and land automatically. It wasn't a simple programming process to fly the drone automatically with or without an operator. All the factors needed to work precisely or the drone would crash. They needed to be tested before a real payload was used. "You showed me that it could be done, Glen. You wanted it to look easy, but it wasn't ... remember? You did some things that didn't work right and had to redo 'em. Don't give me any shit about 'easy'. It ain't, and you' gonna do it."

The event at Rockefeller park with the Ranger meant that a new recovery spot had to be used and fast. The whole chain of distribution was in motion. Jagneaux's business depended on the drones bringing a steady supply of product. He wanted another landing spot in the park closer to the highway but still within range of the ship. The drones needed testing before tomorrow. They had to fly with an empty bird tonight before daybreak to test it.

The Big Man threatened Jagneaux. He said he'd collapse the house of cards if Jagneaux either lost customers or didn't expand quickly. Big Man's leverage was absolute because he supplied the product from his South American contacts and could cause Jagneaux to go to prison for several life terms, especially now that he was a murderer. How did it ever get this fucked up?

Against Protocol

Dinner for Taylor and Nicky was going well. There wasn't any more dialogue about his motives. From all appearances, they were just a young couple having a nice time together, enjoying the evening breeze off the ocean and some southern food specialties.

Her frankness was refreshing even if he felt awkward. None of his other female friends would be this upfront. Taylor hadn't dated girls with her presence; she was direct, something he'd rarely been himself, except when required on duty. He'd never met a girl like this, so business-like. He said, "I have something for you."

"Oh, yeah, so, did I poison the 'charm well'?"

"Not completely, but I need to earn this dinner you're buying." He wasn't really going to let her pay. He was, after all, a southern gentleman. He pulled out his wallet and passed across a business card. She looked at it and smiled, "Oh, swell ... bait."

She turned the card over and read it seriously. "You want to fall to the dark side? You could get into big trouble for giving me this."

"Yeah, maybe, just give me your word that the card will be chewed and swallowed before morning."

"I'm serious, Mike. I know that I asked for this, but I didn't think you'd really give it to me."

"Look, Nicky, I opened up to you completely earlier. I was on a fence about giving that to you. I've got a condition that goes with it."

"What?"

"I'm going with you when you talk to the woman."

"Mike, I don't know. You're a police officer, and this isn't your jurisdiction. I don't know how this works, but I sure bet you'd get fired."

He pursed his lips. "It's worse than that. It's a federal crime to give you that. Since I would go with you, it would be compounded, and I'd probably get some jail time, not just lose my job." He didn't want to overdramatize -- it was all true.

She understood his anxiety. "Okay, I accept. But, since you want to get more involved, what's it cost me? Do I sleep with you now?" She was joking, smiling as he choked on his tea.

Pickup

It was after midnight. Where's the bird? He didn't have any choice now; he'd pick up the shipment himself until he could find someone he could trust. Leroy had been an idiot, but he was reliable and didn't cost much. He also wasn't afraid to be in the middle of a swamp after dark.

Jagneaux swatted a mosquito then sprayed DEET over his whole body. It was too hot to keep the windows up and there was no air conditioning running in his truck. He had to keep the engine off to hear the drone approach. The damned thing was nearly silent and flew without lights. If it dropped the shipment even a few feet off the road, it would be lost in the reeds and swamp water. He wasn't going anywhere near the water. Gaters and snakes could kill him. A lost shipment was ... just lost. He keyed the mic. "Fisher, this is Catcher, over."

The crew aboard the fishing boat was waiting for news that the shipment had been recovered. No matter how many times they did this, there were so many ways that things could go wrong and they'd lose the package or the drone, or both. It was always an expensive gamble, especially so tonight with a new landing location. "Go ahead, Catcher."

"Where is it?"

"Ah, Catcher, signal says it's about two kilometers from you. Should be less than a minute."

"Roger." They kept communications to a minimum to avoid monitoring.

He listened more closely, trying to exclude the swamp noise. It was never quiet in the swamp at night, but the sounds were from nature, not man made.

The faint hum of four electric motors became louder, and the drone stopped overhead, about twenty feet above him. Oh shit. He started the engine and backed fifty feet away in the dark. The new programming had been almost too precise, stopping exactly above him. The drone dropped the shipment by cable in the road ahead. It took less than twenty seconds hovering to lower it, reeling in the cable and flying away, leaving six red bricks bundled together.

The new drop location was close to the highway and he was on his way to New Orleans a few minutes later. In less than an hour, he piloted his go-fast boat, heading to "Fisher."

On board the fishing boat, the drone settled into its cradle after a perfect landing. High-fives were exchanged with the crew. Jagneaux congratulated the builder, "Glen, ya' did good. When we get back to the dock, I'll have something extra for you, after wrecking your night out."

Glen smiled weakly, then stepped down into the speedboat tied alongside for the trip to shore. Inwardly, he felt good that the programming had worked so well. It was an easy night to fly without storms or any adverse weather conditions, but it still felt good to see the drone return automatically, like a nighthawk to its nest. It wasn't hard to program the whole flight sequence, but things could still go wrong. Tonight, it had all gone well.

During the ride back to shore, when he and Jagneaux were alone, Glen decided he'd had enough bullying from the drug smuggler. There wasn't any sweet way to label it, Jagneaux was a drug smuggler. Glen wasn't. He was a hobbyist who'd turned his love of unmanned flying machines into a business. Jagneaux paid well, but not enough to take chances with the law. He yelled above the engine noise. "I want more money."

Jagneaux pretended not to hear. "What?" He knew perfectly well what Glen wanted. Glen was a geek, a nobody with a certain skill. It was vital to Jagneaux's operation, but he couldn't afford to be blackmailed.

"I said, 'I want more money.'"

They were both shouting. "I don't think you understand, Glen. I got lottsa expenses. You're just one. I got a lot of money sunk in this and I can't give you more. Hell, my boat crew and pickup crew all want more. I pay fair, that's it."

"What's fair, Johnny? Without me, that shipment woulda never got there tonight. You know that!"

"Yeah ... you're right, Glen, not tonight. But you can be replaced. Don't forget it."

"Where else you gonna find an engineer who would work for a drug smuggler? You ever think of that?"

Jagneaux didn't answer as he began maneuvering into the harbor. Without looking at Glen, he said, "You should be careful what you say. I said you'd get extra tonight, Glen. Don't go pushin' your luck. It could be unhealthy."

Glen had wanted more money ever since he found out what was going on, and now he'd done it. But Jagneaux frightened him with his response. Usually, Glen seemed a happy-go-luck guy, the used-car-salesman personality. But tonight, Glen had seen another side ... the side of someone deep into drug dealing. People died in this business. He didn't want to be one of them and wanted to quit. Can I quit?

Jagneaux seemed to dismiss the conversation as he maneuvered beside the dock. It was over. Glen could never be trusted again, and this was a business that depended on trust.

Taylor

He was off guard. This Yankee girl could really push his buttons. Had she actually just offered to sleep with him?

She smiled. "Easy, Sheriff, it was a joke." She watched his anticipation fade to realization then to embarrassment. "But, seriously, Mike, you don't need to chaperone me around. You gave me what I want, and I'll buy dinner ... fair?"

"All right, I get you. No ... you're not buying dinner, we got certain rules down here. You northern girls might be used to paying your own way, but that's not acceptable down here. We have our rules. And I don't change my terms. I'm going with you."

"Mike, it's not your jurisdiction. You don't owe me anything, and there's nothing in it for you."

He was unbending. "Maybe I just want to get to know you a little better."

She frowned. "There's nothing to know. I don't have any interest in you ... I'm sorry, that came out wrong. There's nothing in it for you."

"Why can't I be the judge? You're a girl, I'm a guy, and neither of us is married as far as I know about you. Am I missing something ... oh, you a lesbian?"

"No! It's just that I'm only here for a few days to find a killer and then get back home. That's all. I have obligations, and I need to get back, quickly."

"So, I'm offering to help. I can help move things along, just like with the information you just got and probably when you talk to the lady. That'll get you home sooner."

"Oh, is that want you really want? You want me out of here quicker?"

He exhaled, speaking after a few moments. "Look, Nicky, I admit I'm attracted to you. Maybe I do have an ulterior motive. Is that so bad? I bet guys are always doing things to get closer to you. What's so unusual about that, if it helps you get what you want?"

She wrapped both hands around the glass. "Mike, you seem like an okay guy, but I'm not someone you should get interested in. I live in New England, and I won't leave. You're a southerner, happy here." She paused, "And there's something else."

"Uh, oh, you're serious about some guy up north; you engaged?"

"I have a daughter! She's a beautiful little three-year-old with special needs. She might not ever have a normal life without me. There ... now you know. God, I can't believe we're in this discussion. I don't know you, yet I'm telling you all about my private life."

It took a few moments for him to process this information. "Nicky, I didn't mean to pry, and I'm sorry."

"Okay, apology accepted. Now, can we go, and you can forget about me. Thanks for the license information by the way."

"No, let's not go." He put his hand on hers.

"Oh, what? What does it take to scare you away?"

"Look, I can't say how I feel about everything you said. It'll take a little time to sink in. It's kinda the way I process things. I just don't feel like walking away now."

"Mike, you're nice, but it's not going anywhere."

"Yeah, I hear you say that over and over. I'm starting to get it. But let me tell you something about me. I'm not really that nice a guy."

She sat back and stared directly into his eyes, remaining silent.

He continued. "Look, I come from farm family in East Texas. Life doesn't get more basic or simple. As a kid I was bored, like all farm kids. Up at dawn, chores, go to school, come home to more chores. That's it, my whole life as a kid.

"There was this girl on a farm by ours. We knew each other from kindergarten. We played together whenever we could, and she was my best friend, my only friend nearby. When you grow up on farms, you learn about how animals breed. She and I knew how babies came really young.

"Sometime when we were around thirteen, we started playing like all the barnyard animals \-- you know what I'm talking about. It was part of being teenagers on farms. Anyway, our folks figured it out and kept us both apart, busy with our farm chores. We didn't get all that much time together. But when we could, we'd hide in her barn or mine and ... do it.

"She got pregnant at fifteen. I don't think our folks were surprised, it happens around farms all the time. But they made sure we never saw each other after that. They kept us apart.

"That fall, my dad put me in a rundown boy's school, they called it an academy, but it was more like a beat up old Army barracks. I got home for holidays after that, and summer harvest, but that's all. From there, I went into the Army after finishing high school and a little over a year in junior college."

She was curious. "So, you're a father?"

"I guess you could say that. When I was deployed, I got a letter from the girl, her name is Sarah. She sent me a first-grade picture of Mike Junior."

"So, what's he like?"

"I don't know. I answered her letter but never got anything after that. I don't even know why she sent me the picture. When I went home on leave, I asked my folks about her and they said the neighbors stopped talking about her, and she was gone; that was it. Nobody would say where she went. I don't know where Sarah lives or anything about my son."

"Do you want to?"

"I don't know ... I really don't. I'm a father, I get that. I should want to be with my son. Hell, I don't know if he even knows anything about me. It's just ... well, I really haven't tried to find him. I'm not that good a guy." He didn't want to talk further about it.

She smiled. "Okay, you can go with me to talk to the lady."

Status

"Look, I just want to know what's going on. You know who owned the truck. So where's the investigation now?" Boyd was discouraged. The FBI wasn't saying anything. Boyd was a part of a federal enforcement agency, and they should be able to share information.

Agent Adam Maimon didn't want a battle between agencies to escalate. "Look, Boyd, I can't really say anything. We have procedures. We're making progress, but we really can't talk about it with you."

"What procedures? Look, at least tell me you're talking to the truck owner and getting her story."

"I can't tell you that. I can't tell you about any parts of the investigation."

Boyd rubbed his forehead. "Look, Maimon, just tell me you're actually talking to the truck owner. It's obvious, her brother was involved."

For a brief moment, the Agent thought about telling the ranger something just to shut off this line of discussion. It was getting out of control, already ... and above Maimon's pay grade. He'd only been told that their office was closing the file for now, but he couldn't tell that to the park Service. "Look, Boyd, I can't tell you any more than that, just live with it." He hung up.

Boyd was angry, thinking about calling headquarters. He went to the coffee machine first, before pulling that trigger. Still simmering, he picked up the phone just as she was arriving. He watched Nicky Bryant park by his truck and walk to the office. She wore Amanda's light blue Dockers, and white knit polo shirt. She looked gorgeous, like one of those women who doesn't make any effort to look good. She looked like her sister, which settled his anger.

She showed a small smile. "Hey, Boyd, anything new?"

"Hi, Nicky. Yeah, I'm learning that the FBI has 'procedures.' They won't tell me anything about the guy in the park when Amanda was taken. I'm a fed too, but they got 'procedures'."

"So, are they saying anything at all?"

"Nothing ... nada."

She sensed and shared his frustration. "Okay, well, I'm going to do a little investigating on my own."

"No, don't do that. Leave it to the pros. Look, Nicky, we all miss Amanda here ... maybe me more than most. But whatever happened to her, I don't want it to happen to you. Leave it to the folks who get paid to do it."

"Boyd, do you really think they're going to solve this? I don't know much about any of this, but I was married to a lawyer, and he used to talk a lot about how slow the police were and how prosecutors don't do their jobs. They always want 'more' evidence. Unless there's a smoking gun or some ironclad witness, it takes years for suspects to be convicted. Most killers never get caught. I don't believe the FBI is competent to find a killer. Don't they mostly work on cybercrimes?"

"Yeah, that's why I wanted the Sheriff to handle it, but he turned it over to the NOPD."

"Mike Taylor seems like a good guy."

He agreed. "Yeah, but he's got a boss, the Sheriff. That guy's up for re-election. He won't touch a case if he doesn't already know the answer. It's politics. Unfortunately, Taylor is just an Indian and does what the Sheriff says. He's no more useful than the Sheriff. At this point, I don't know if anyone is really taking Amanda's case seriously. The FBI isn't talking and the NOPD is deferring to them."

She liked Boyd, but he couldn't do much except rattle cages. She didn't say anything about dinner with Taylor the night before. She returned to the apartment with no more information.

She called home and her mother answered. "Hi, how's Millie?"

"She's right here with me. We just finished having breakfast. She asked about you: 'Where's Mommy?'"

Nicky hadn't been away from her daughter overnight before. Now, she'd been away three days, and Millie was confused, which could get out of control in her case. Nicky's eyes watered, thinking about her handicapped daughter, struggling to understand why her mommy left her. It had been hard enough, emotionally, on Millie when Amanda, 'Manda,' wasn't there that morning after she'd driven away to Louisiana. Now, Millie was struggling to understand another person absent from her life. It tore at Nicky's emotions.

"Mom, I need to stay a few more days. I've got something to check out."

"Nicole ... you have responsibilities here. What are you doing? Aren't the police finding Amanda's killer?"

"It's not that simple, Mom. The FBI is involved because she's a federal employee. But they don't have many people in New Orleans and have higher priority cases. I need to check on some things myself. I don't want the case to get old because nobody's following up on things."

Her mother didn't want to think about losing another daughter. "Nicole, you need to let it go and come home. You're a hair dresser, not a cop. Let the police handle it."

"That's just it, Mom, they aren't handling it. At least, they don't seem to be. They're so hush-hush that Boyd Jassop can't get anything. Boyd is Amanda's boss and a federal agent, but the FBI won't say anything to him. We don't think they're doing anything."

"I'll call Katherine Schmultz, our Congresswoman. She can get the FBI to tell us what's going on."

"Don't do that, Mom. It'll make people mad and cause a bunch of work that slows things down even further."

"Well, Nicky, I don't know what else to tell you. Millie needs you, and dad and I want you back home, safe."

"I know, Mom. I really know that, and I miss all of you too. I won't be here more than two more days. I just want to check things out."

"Honey, please don't take any chances. We need you back here, safe and sound." Mrs. Bryant knew Nicky. She knew how persistent she could be and not always cautious. Her choices in men proved that. Now, she was involved in something more serious, something that got her sister killed. Nicky was smart and resourceful, but she didn't always play it safe.

"Okay, Mom, gotta go. Kiss Millie for me. Maybe we can Facetime later."

"I think it would just confuse her, Nicole. It's best that you come home."

"I can't Mom, not right now. Goodbye." She hung up before her mother could prolong the discussion.

Taylor was on duty for a couple more hours. They had decided to go to New Orleans in the afternoon, after his shift, to talk to Gracie DeBlanc, the registered owner of the pickup. It was frustrating with nothing to do. Nicky had seen Boyd, with no results, talked to her mother, who wanted her home, and now had to wait hours for Mike Taylor.

In the meantime, back home, her clients were probably finding other hair dressers and her daughter felt abandoned. She lay back on the bed. Why am I doing this? She stared at the ceiling, thinking about Amanda. Everything around her reminded her of her little sister. This was her house, her clothes, her shampoo, her refrigerator, her car. Amanda had started a new life, a life that ended after only a few months. Nicky tried to imagine how Amanda felt, lying in this same bed, thinking about her family and Kamm back in Maine. None of her dreams would ever come true. She'd been killed here in this horrible place. She didn't belong here. Nicky cried: Why you, Sweetheart? Why you?!!

Gracie

"Hi ... ready?" Taylor didn't call, he just showed up around four o'clock, knocking on the door. He was dressed in jeans, cowboy boots and western shirt. His tall frame seemed to elevate under the western hat. Overall, he was severely over-dressed for the oppressive weather. His effort to impress her was too obvious ... the curse of being a single man with no feminine adviser.

"Yeah, come in. Don't you look nice!" She'd taken a shower to refresh from the humidity, wearing the same pants but a fresh shirt. Amanda had invested in clothes with every paycheck. In the damp conditions, it felt good to have showered and changed. "I fixed something to eat." It amounted to an early supper or late lunch; either way, Nicky hadn't eaten all day and was starving. Who knew when they'd eat again?

He looked around when entering. "So, this is your sister's place?" He recognized the indelicacy as soon as he'd said it.

"Yes ... it was." She gestured toward the small round table with a large salad bowl in the center.

He didn't say more, sitting opposite her and staring into the mixture of greens, fruits, and nuts. There might have even been some cheese or meat hidden below, but he couldn't see any.

"You like salad?" She knew it was something like space food to him.

"Ah, yes ... I like salad."

"You ever eat salad?" She gave him a big portion, watching him construct another lie.

"Sometimes." He'd had one with a steak once.

"Well, good. This is kind of a Waldorf except I didn't have any walnuts or apples. I substituted other fruits and almonds instead."

"Um, Waldorf, one of my favorites." He was digging deeper.

She smiled, giggling for the first time since coming south.

"You ever have Waldorf?"

"Ah, not often enough. This is good." He felt obliged to say something. He could never understand why women put so much work into something with so little protein.

She'd made lemonade from a frozen can in Amanda's freezer. They finished eating quickly. She spared him any more questions about his culinary experiences. He was a gulf-coast boy who probably ate fried catfish or shrimp five nights a week, supplemented by pizza and beer on weekends. It was a wonder that he maintained his masculine physique through regular workout routines ... yeah, a real salad man.

About an hour later, they were near the address for Gracie DeBlanc. GPS took them to a dirt road in the country several miles from the center of New Orleans. Moss hung from old oaks and cypress trees. Swamp noises filled the air, which had a strong moldy quality. The smell was common in southern Louisiana. They were close enough to the coast to have a slight gulf breeze, but it failed to make it more comfortable. Taylor's truck windows were up and the AC blasted at maximum power, keeping them cool inside, disguising the smell outside.

They drove slowly, looking for signs of any addresses hidden in the dense growth. He was more accustomed to searching in these conditions than Nicky. "There. Look at that broken mail box covered in vines." He got out and pulled back some leaves.

The number "47" was partially legible on the rusted mold-covered box. There was no lid on the old box and, from appearances, the owners didn't get much mail. Taylor walked a few steps to see down the dirt path, but it curved without revealing anything. He got back in the cab, "Well, let's drive on in and see what's back there."

"Are you sure about this?"

"Well, back in Cameron, I'd be doing this in my cruiser. I don't generally drive my own vehicle into somebody's property unannounced, but we've come a long way and we really don't have another choice." He turned onto the dirt path that led through the dense overgrowth only wide enough for his truck. Swamp trees, palmettos and mangroves brushed along the sides, making it difficult to open the doors if they were inclined to do so.

Nicky gripped the armrest and a piece of Taylor' s sleeve. "So, when does the banjo music start?" She felt less comfortable than she sounded.

About a hundred feet further, the path bent, exposing a clearing with an old single-wide trailer and junk scattered all around. An old car was parked under a tree. There was no yard, per se, just enough open room for the truck to turn around. A loud BOOM sent Nicky to the floor as Taylor swore. "What the hell! You all right?" The truck wasn't damaged.

"What y'all doin' here? This here's private. Don't tell me you's sellin' nothin'." The scruffy older woman stood in the open door of the trailer pointing a shotgun in the direction of the truck.

He opened his window, "Ma'am, we just want to ask you some questions." It wasn't the first time he'd encountered a backwoods welcome. "Can we get out of the truck and speak to you? We're not armed and will stay away. We just want to talk."

"About Whut?" She still pointed the gun in their direction.

"We have some questions about a truck that you own."

"If'n ya mean my Dodge, it ain't mine. It's my brother, Leroy's. I just signed the papers cuz o' his law problems."

"Can we get out of the truck and talk?"

"Well, you can, but I don't know what's to talk about."

Taylor looked down at Nicky, smiled slightly, then opened his door. "You don't need to be down there. You can stay in here if you'd feel safer."

"No way." She pulled herself up and opened her door, moving slowly.

They stood by the truck doors while Taylor talked. "Ma'am, my name is Mike Taylor and this here is Ms. Bryant. We're trying to speak to the owner of a pickup registered at this address."

"I done talked to the New Orleans police, ain't got nothing else to say."

"Ma'am, we're not the police. We're doing some fact searching and your address came up. Are you Gracie DeBlanc? And, could you lower the weapon, please."

She kept her finger on the trigger guard but lowered the muzzle. "Yes, I'm Miss DeBlanc, but I ain't sayin' more. If you's not the police, then get off my property."

Taylor continued with a heavier drawl than normal. "Ma'am, Ms. Bryant here is from the north and she lost her sister who was murdered. You might have heard it on the news. Her sister was a ranger for the Federal park Service. She was killed on duty over in Cameron."

"You sound like you's a cop. Somethin' about you, the way you talk. You a cop?"

He wasn't sure if she would shoot him at this point for being a deputy, but before he could speak, Nicky injected. "Miss DeBlanc, Mr. Taylor is a friend of mine. He is a Sheriff, but not from here. This isn't official. We, I, just want to know about the truck you own. There's a possibility that it was at the scene when my sister was taken."

She still held the gun, but relaxed and didn't seem threatening any longer. "Like I said, it's my brother's an' he's dead."

They were all silent for a moment, then Taylor spoke. "I'm sorry to hear that ma'am, was it recent?" He and Nicky knew Leroy was killed, the FBI had shown them pictures at the ranger station. Taylor just wanted to see if there was more information the woman would give.

"A few days past."

Nicky and Taylor exchanged glances. "That could have been about the time Ranger Bryant was taken. Is that what the police were investigating?"
"No. They was askin' all kinda questions about my brother's murder. They think he was dealin' drugs or something.' Got hisself murdered, tortured by some Jamaicans or others. You know, the drug peoples what make all the money and drive big pimpy cars. My Leroy wasn't one o' them, no sir! He got in trouble, sure, but he don't sell no drugs. Don't use 'em, neither. Someone made a mistake, that's all and poor old Leroy, he done paid the price."

"We're sorry ma'am, just following up. Do you know why he might have been at Roosevelt park at night a couple weeks back?"

"No, I don't. Now I'm tellin' you to leave my property." She amplified the demand by pointing the gun again. "If you don't scat, that there shinny Ford gonna have some big holes to fix."

He signaled for Nicky to get inside the truck. She looked like she had more questions but wasn't going to argue with a distraught woman pointing a gun at them. Taylor backed around cautiously then drove off without provoking the woman further.

Nicky's nerves settled quickly. "She knows more Mike, but she's not saying."

"Yeah, it's another trait of us southerners. We won't say anything bad about someone who died."

Disgusted

"But why did you kill him? He was harmless. He didn't know anything about the details of our operation."

The voice on the other phone responded. "Don' you lecture me boy. You said it, not me!"

Jagneaux retorted. "I said to teach him a lesson about being more careful about being caught, just to scare him."

"Yeah, we sho' nuff did that. He got a lesson from ever'one, an' I garn'tee he was scared. My boys done saw to that. He cried like a baby."

"You fucking moron! He was just my driver! I just wanted him to stop asking questions and be more careful!"

"Well, he done stop' I recon'. Lessin' you got somethin' important, this call is over."

"This is my deal, you guys are just the distributors, I bring the product in. Now you idiots are bringing the heat where we don't need it. Do I need to remind you that your sources are drying up, and you need my supply? I give you that, you don't control that, and you don't control my operations!" He was bullshit. Leroy had been his loyal gopher for years. He'd do anything for a small amount of money, small by their standards. Now Jagneaux had another problem.

He'd always been able to stay one level removed from the violence; the gang bangers did that. They didn't know how he got the product; they'd fuck it up if they got involved. These shit birds were cutthroats who could only function by killing each other. None of them were capable of rational thought.

They didn't know how he came by the product. If they did, the channel would be destroyed through their own incompetence. Now they'd killed Leroy. There was no good explanation; they had been trying to get information from him – information Leroy never had. Jagneaux knew they were trying to cut him out and work directly with his supplier. They couldn't take over his business until they got control of his channel, and that wouldn't happen.

The cartels on the supply side hadn't figured it out, but they had money and resources to hire the best brains in the world. It didn't work for the crips. Jagneaux kept his shipments small. If he got bigger, it would attract attention. He only wanted small quantities that he could handle efficiently without creating too much curiosity – from either end of the business. He could manage a few dozen kilos a week. The cartels had a hundred times as much to finance their armies. Jagneaux didn't need an army. He had less than a dozen people involved at all levels. They were fishermen and technicians and, other than Leroy, had special skills unrelated to his business. Ninety percent of the cartels and a hundred percent of the bangers were just stupid killers. Point them in some direction, give them a gun, and they were good-to-go. Jagneaux's operations were high tech by comparison. He didn't need millions of dollars each week to finance his army. He didn't need an army of thugs. He was content with the business as it was, He was wealthy enough without a huge risk and idiots to manage. These bangers couldn't understand it.

The person on the other end of the conversation was speaking gibberish about protecting their turf and Leroy being some kind of threat. They'd killed Leroy to scare Jagneaux. It was all shit. They knew it, and Jagneaux knew it. He finished, "Look asshole, let's understand something. We're not friends. We will never be friends. I wouldn't want to be seen in the same room with you dressed in all your ethnic pride colors and bullshit jewels and driving your low-rides. You all look like clowns and, except for our business, I wouldn't get near your filth. So, just understand, you leave my operations alone! If you ever show up near any of my people again, I'll cut you off and go to the BLOODS." He disconnected before getting some idiotic threat in incomprehensible language. They needed him. He needed them, too, but not as much. There were always more street gangs.

He made another call. "Carlos, I want to go fishing tonight. I'll meet you at the usual spot." By using his own cigarette boat to rendezvous, the crips couldn't track him. The coast guard and US Customs stopped most fast boat traffic coming inbound from the gulf, which was okay with him, he never transported the product. He'd been searched many times.

Rendezvous

The 35' go-fast Cigarette boat cleared the harbor entrance after dark at idle speed. Outside the breakwater, throttles were pushed forward to their stops and Jagneaux sat upright, strapped into the pilot's seat. Within seconds, the boat surged higher in the water, planing across the night chop at more than sixty miles per hour. He set a course in the autopilot and would navigate by radar once near the rendezvous point far out in the gulf. He looked in all directions and in the sky for anyone following. The bangers didn't have anything that could follow him offshore.

After cruising less than an hour, the shore had long disappeared and there were no navigation lights anywhere, just a black ocean under moonless sky. He wasn't comfortable, but he was thankful there were no storm clouds. His GPS showed him near the spot. The fishing boat running lights were a short distance ahead. Throttling back, he maneuvered alongside the shrimper, drifting without engines turning. The crew lowered a boarding ladder and secured his mooring lines, attaching the two vessels.

Jagneaux climbed aboard, saying nothing to the crewmen, heading for the pilot house near the bow. "Carlos, we have a problem."

Before the weather-beaten Venezuelan could respond, Jagneaux saw the other man. He recognized him, but never got his name. "Oh, I see we're not alone."

The large dark man came into the cabin light. "We meet again, Mr. Jagneaux." He didn't offer to shake hands.

The captain remained silent as Jagneaux spoke. "Well ... why are you here? I thought we only spoke on the phone?"

The question remained unanswered. The man had a dangerous look, hard, sun baked, middle aged, in obvious good physical shape. He was intimidating. The captain was portly, but not this man. Jagneaux had suspicions about his profession, but had never inquired after their first meeting where he'd feared for his life. The man said, "We have a problem. You know what it is."

"Look, I didn't do anything. It was that idiot, Leroy. He did something unexpected. I didn't pay him to think, only to deliver. He screwed up taking that girl from the park."

The captain didn't know how to react and just stood back, not speaking. What girl? He knew they'd been breaking serious laws but nobody ever got hurt.

Jagneaux continued when the man glared at him. "He shows up at my place and says 'we got a problem, boss.' Then he tells me he's got this park ranger, this woman, covered up in the bed of his truck. I went nuts and slapped him around. He started crying. I couldn't believe it. He brought a park ranger, basically a Fed cop, to my house."

When the man didn't respond, Jagneaux went on. "He says 'She ain't seen nothin,' his words, so I asks him what he planned on doing with her. He just stared at me. He said he didn't know."

Jagneaux's tempo increased as the man continued glaring at him. "I says, 'What the fuck! You idiot!' And he says again: 'What's to do, boss?' I coulda shot him myself for even talking out loud about me bein' his boss. I finally asked him what shape she was in, and he said he didn't know. He had her in the back, in the bed; it's a furnace basically, and she'd been in there mor'n an hour and banging around with all his masonry gear, including my special bricks – correction, our special bricks."

The man asked. "What did you do then?"

"Well, we banged on the truck sides to see if she was stirrin'. Nothin'. I looked at Leroy and said we got no choice ... gotta get rid of her."

The Big Man stiffened, "You mean you wanted to kill a federal officer?"

"Ah ... I guess that's it."

"Go on."

"Well, I looked at Leroy and said 'Open the tail gate and let's see.' He did it and all I could see was some boots, so we pulled her out to where I could see her face and check her. I could see she was pretty beat up and unconscious from bein' in there, but she had a pulse. But, I don't think she coulda survived." Jagneaux was sweating buckets listening to his own words.

"She was alive then?"

"Well, I guess you could say that, but like I said, she woulda died."

"Then what?"

"You're not gonna like this part." He leaned away, preparing to run ... run where?

"I don't give a shit, you miserable fuck, what did you do?" He'd stepped closer to Jagneaux who was quivering.

"I got a hammer." With no response, he continued. "I gave it to Leroy and told him to hit her."

"You told him to kill her?"

"Well, I guess you could say that, but I only said to hit her."

"Look, fuck face, don't play semantics with me; you ordered her execution?"

Jagneaux cowered at the words. "I don't know, maybe."

"So what happened with Leroy?"

"He hit her on the top of her skull, above her ear."

"He killed her?"

"Well, no, she was still showin' a pulse."

"Was that it?"

"Well no, I kinda took the hammer and finished it."

The man stepped back and looked at the ceiling. "You know that this complicates things. You killed a fed, not to mention your gnome. There wasn't any part of our bargain that included killing anyone."

Jagneaux pleaded. "I didn't kill Leroy! That was the crips. For the girl, I didn't have a choice. Otherwise, she coulda maybe identified Leroy and me. It would have blown everything. We needed to get rid of her."

"Don't use the work 'we,' asshole, you're a murderer, and that wasn't part of the deal."

Jagneaux recoiled at being labeled. "Please, it's all right. I had Leroy take her back to the park and put her in the water to look like an accident. Gators will get her, and it'll look like she was attacked and maybe eaten."

"She was found. There were no bite marks. They know she was murdered."

Confounded

"I don't get it, Mike. This is an FBI case and they know that truck was in the park with Amanda. That DeBlanc woman was only questioned by the New Orleans Police. Where's the FBI? This is a big lead, how come they didn't talk to her yet?"

"I don't know, Nicky. Bureaucracy is slow, maybe that's it. I don't know."

All was quiet for a while, both lost in their thoughts as Taylor drove toward Cameron.

"I don't know, Mike. I don't get any of this. My sister was murdered. Someone needs to take that seriously. The FBI isn't even talking to the most important person, at least not yet."

"I know, Nicky, it doesn't make sense to me either. They have the truck license and the address. It's in their database. It's basic law enforcement. Hell, they write the books. They have an academy that trains them on how to investigate. You and me, we're just civilians, and we're ahead of the FBI. It doesn't make sense."

Her reflection in the window showed the stress she'd been under since coming to Louisiana. "Mike, I need to go home. My daughter needs me. My job needs me. I can't stay here any longer."

"I know, Nicky. When will you leave?" He couldn't hide his disappointment.

"I'll check Southwest for tomorrow or the next day. I might drive Amanda's car instead, but I'd rather have it here if I return. I plan to keep paying her bills for a while, so I might come back down sometime."

She was leaving. It felt like he was losing someone important. She'd gotten under his skin.

"Look, Nicky, I know you didn't come here for fun. I wish we'd met differently, but I'd like to keep working on this with you. I mean ... well, I think we make a pretty good team, and something isn't right here. I just kinda feel it. Can we stay in touch?"

"Mike, I really appreciate what you're doing. If the FBI isn't taking the case, then I need to. That probably means I'll be back."

It was what he wanted to hear.

It didn't take long for the FBI to find out about their visit to Gracie DeBlanc. "What the hell do you think you're doing!" Sheriff Gaylord (Gay) Custis stood across the desk from Taylor the next morning, berating the Deputy. Others could hear everything but stayed hidden behind their cubicle walls. "This isn't our case, and you were out of your jurisdiction."

Taylor didn't like the Sheriff, but he was the boss. "I was on my own time, Gay. I wasn't in uniform and I didn't show a badge. I was just with a friend."

"A friend! You were with that Bryant girl lookin' into her sister."

"Yeah, but ..."

"You got something for her? She sweet-talkin' you? What're you thinkin,' boy? You work for the Cameron Sheriff's office; that's me. You got responsibilities to this office."

"I was on my own time with a friend. It's that simple." Both men were red-faced.

"No, it ain't that simple. When the FBI calls me and tells me to lay off, that ain't simple."

"The FBI? They don't give a shit about this case. How do they even know I was there?"

"They got it from the New Orleans police. They said some young woman who had a sister killed and a tall good-looking man who said he was a Sheriff went to that lady's house askin' questions. It doesn't take a genius to figure out."

"Look, Sheriff, I admit that we were there, but I was a citizen, not a cop."

"Let me put it this way, Deputy. You are not to get involved any more with the Bryant case. If you do, on official time or private time, you'll be terminated. Is that clear?"

Taylor was about to protest, but decided not to. The Sheriff was already mad and this wasn't the time to press him further.

"Yes, sir. I got it."

Home

Her father waited outside the security zone at Portland's Jetport Terminal. Nicky's flight arrived at the gate about three o'clock that afternoon. They then waited together for her luggage to be delivered.

"Well, Nicole, did you learn anything?"

"Yeah, Daddy, I can't understand how Amanda could live alone down there."

"Yeah, I'm sorry that your mother and I never got a chance to visit. We saw the pictures and did some Skyping, but we never really got the chance to see how she lived and where she worked. Were the people nice?"

"They were fine, Dad. Her boss was nice and really liked her. Her apartment is small, and I don't think she had a social life yet. She had some projects at the park; I think she liked the work."

"So, what are the police doing to find her killer?"

She paused. "I don't know. It's supposed to be an FBI case, but they don't say anything. They don't even tell Boyd Jassop, Amanda's boss, anything. He's the top ranger and should be able to know, but they won't tell him anything. There's a Sheriff's office there that should be leading this, but doesn't. I know one of the deputies, and he's been helpful, but he can't do anything official."

"Your mother said we should call Katherine Schmultz. Maybe the FBI would tell what's going on to a Congresswoman."

Nicky nodded. She was tired. Travel had started early that morning and got delayed when the plane stopped in Baltimore. "I just want to get home, Dad, and see Millie. Let's talk some more after dinner. I need some downtime."

She lowered the car window slightly for the drive home. It was late September and still mild. The dry air felt cool compared to her last few days. She wanted to forget the whole mess in Louisiana. She couldn't, of course. Amanda was dead, but all Nicky had accomplished was to screw things up with her clients and get nowhere in Louisiana. She shifted her thoughts to Millie, her one great joy in life. Millie was different, requiring special attention that "normal" kids didn't. Autism made raising her difficult, but at the same time, it drew them close together.

Nicky's mom was incredible. She took care of Millie when Nicky worked. She was like a second mother to the little girl, and it took an enormous burden off Nicky. When Nicky walked through the door, the little girl was playing with blocks on the living room rug. She didn't immediately respond to her mother, but this was normal. When Nicky sat down next to her on the floor, Millie hugged her with all her strength. "Oh, Millie ... honey, I love you so much." Her daughter squeezed tighter, not wanting to let go.

Millie asked, "Where were you, Mommy?"

Nicky pretended not to hear and carried Millie with her to see her mom.

"Hello, dear." Mom embraced both of them.

"Hi, Mom, it's nice to be home."

Nicky and Millie played for a few minutes, then both took naps until supper time. After awakening and tending to her daughter, Nicky changed, feeling revived. It was nice to be home, but she couldn't escape feeling that she needed to keep chasing Amanda's killer. She had to do something. Who else was doing it?

That evening, she started calling all of her clients to re-schedule the appointments that she'd missed. They had all stayed with her, understanding the loss of her sister at such a young age. Somehow, being back home and feeling the support of her parents and the loyalty of her clients rejuvenated her faith in human nature. Home in Maine felt like another country compared to Louisiana. She slept more soundly that night than any time since Amanda was murdered.

Her phone chimed at seven-thirty in the morning. The display said "Taylor."

"Hello."

"Hi, did I wake you? It's Taylor."

"Ah, no. I've been up with my daughter having her breakfast. What's up?"

"I thought you'd like to know. I checked with the N'Orleans Police. Turns out that Gracie's brother didn't just die of old age. I won't go into all the details, but he didn't exactly die of natural causes."

Answers

A dark SUV with nearly black windows pulled into the park Office's lot five minutes after Boyd arrived. He saw it and moved to his desk, taking the holster from a drawer and clipping it over his belt. Everyone was a little paranoid after Amanda's murder.

Three large lean men stepped out of the vehicle and formed together after scanning the area. They were dressed in dark cargo-like trousers with white knit shirts. They weren't tourists; these men were nothing like normal park visitors. Boyd thought about locking the office door and calling 911, but he couldn't report anything, not yet. The trio reached the door, walking in without knocking. Boyd had dismissed the night-duty rangers and would be alone for another thirty minutes until the first day-shift people arrived. Something about the strangers suggested they knew his routine at the park.

Two of the men wandered to opposite corners of the large room, watching outside, seemingly uninterested inside. Boyd was sweating. "Can I help you gentlemen?"

The lead man smiled. "You Ranger Jassop?"

He knew they knew the answer. "Yes."

The man reached inside a leg pocket, pulling out a badge case. He show Boyd a small gold badge without a number or name anywhere. "I'm Mr. Smith. The men with me are my assistants." Intros were over. "Jassop, we're with a special operations unit inside a federal agency."

At least they're feds and not criminals -- maybe. "What agency? Why all the secretive stuff, Mr. Smith. I assume that's a phony name?"

"The legitimacy of names and our agency isn't a concern for you. We come with some advice ... strong advice. You see, Jassop, there was a letter written by some Congresswoman that's causing problems for another department, which needs to end."

"Well, that's sufficiently vague enough to say nothing. What Congress Woman? What letter?"

The man moved half a step closer, emphasizing his size advantage over the Ranger. The man's conditioning didn't need emphasizing. "I'm afraid that's all we're going to say. If this is confusing, I apologize; but I think you'll figure it out soon enough. Bottom line; don't mess around in matters outside your basic job description. People could get hurt, including you."

"Now wait a minute! You guys waltz in here, waving a badge with a phony name, maybe a phony badge, you don't say anything that makes any sense and warn me, another federal worker, to back off of something I know nothing about – who do you think you are!"

The man looked at his associates, then back at Boyd. "Good day, Jassop. You've been warned."

Boyd started to say more, but the men moved so quickly that all dialogue had ended. It was a weird, frightening encounter -- the strangest confrontation of his life. Who were these guys? He didn't know any more now than when they came through the door, except he'd been warned. Warned about what?

Some minutes later, he dialed a number he'd used once before. The answer: "Ramos,"

Special Agent Dan Ramos ran the New Orleans FBI office. "Dan, this is Boyd Jassop at the Roosevelt Wildlife Refuge."

"Hey, Boyd, what's going on?"

"Well, I don't know. I just had a visit from some spooky feds and wondered if they were yours?"

"No, shouldn't have been. I think you know my people, at least Michelle McAndrew and Adam Maimon. I wouldn't call them spooky."

"Look, they told me about some Congress Woman's letter. Said she was threatening some federal agency ... didn't say more. Did you get some kind of Congressional inquiry, something about us here at the park, maybe something about my dead ranger?"

There was enough of a pause to alert him. Ramos didn't answer quickly enough to be convincing. "Boyd, I couldn't say anything, even if there was something to say."

"Dan, I'm trying not to get paranoid. I'm not sure what you're telling me. You get a letter or not?"

"Let's drop it, Boyd. Just let it go. Look, I'm in a meeting, anything else?"

"No, Dan. You've told me what I wanted. So long for now ... oh, by the way, anything new on my murdered ranger?"

"Same answer, Boyd." He hung up.

So, what's in the letter?

Hammer

The phone call came after six o'clock in the evening, after Millie's supper. Nicky was bathing her daughter when her mother answered.

"Hello, Mrs. Bryant?"

"Yes, this is she."

"Hi, this is Lynn Harris from Katherine Schmultz's office. I think we have some good news."

"Oh, that would be nice." There hadn't been much "good" news for the family, lately.

"The FBI just called our office in response to the Congresswoman's letter we sent to them day before yesterday."

Nicky and her mother had worked with Congresswoman Schmulz, crafting the inquiry to the FBI Director asking for a status, regarding Amanda's murder investigation.

"According to the New Orleans office of the FBI, the New Orleans PD found a hammer in a pickup that could be the murder weapon. They're doing DNA forensic analysis on the truck and the hammer to see if it matches the victim, sorry, your daughter. If their suspicions are correct, then the murderer has been identified."

"Oh, that sounds wonderful. When will they know for sure? Is the driver arrested, do they have him?"

"It doesn't say much more than that, ma'am. We can inquire."

Nicky came into the room carrying Millie dressed in flannel PJs just as her mother finished the call. "What's up, Mom? Something about Amanda?"

Her mother was hopeful. "They think they caught the killer. They're doing some checks now, but it looks like it. Katherine Schmulz is going to call when they know for sure."

"Wow, that was fast."

Within a day, it was confirmed. The police had caught the killer. It was Leroy DeBlanc, Gracie's brother. Nicky had been right to track down the truck owner. Unfortunately, Leroy was dead. In any event, the guy got what he deserved. It all came to a conclusion around noon, and she called Taylor to be sure that he'd heard the news. She wasn't really sure why she wanted to talk to him -- she'd already concluded that they came from different worlds, but she called him anyway.

"Hi, it's Nicky, Nicky Bryant."

"Well, there's only one Nicky I know. How you been, girl? You miss us down here?"

"Actually, I miss the grits and biscuits & gravy the most ... nothing like a few thousand calories and a ton of saturated fat to start a girl's day."

"That's the way we look at it, fueled up and runs all day."

Enough small talk, "Hey, did you hear, the NOPD solved the case. They found a hammer with hair on it in the DeBlanc truck."

Taylor was immediately conflicted. Did this mean Nicky wouldn't ever be coming back? He had been ordered to stay away from the case, anyway, so maybe that would be best. But he couldn't help feeling frustrated. He'd finally met a girl who was different: smart, pretty, good natured even though a northerner.

All that aside, something seemed odd to him, something not really clear in his mind. It just seemed so neat and tidy by police standards. It all sounded right, but could it have been so obvious? "Ah, Nicky, that sounds like good news. I'll make some discrete calls down here and get more details." If nothing else, it was a chance to talk to her again.

"Thanks, Mike, you've been great! Maybe I'll see you again soon. My dad and I are planning to come clean out Amanda's apartment, probably giving most to charity, but we want to sort through everything for keepsakes."

"I'd like that, Nicky. I'll check around and get back in touch." He disconnected feeling happier. She would be returning.

Pressure

She was enraged. "I don't give a shit, Dan, this is bullshit! Since when does the DOJ order the FBI to stand down and then announce that we've solved a case?" Agent McAndrew had never confronted her boss, Dan Ramos, openly in the office before.

"Look, Michelle, I have my orders. I don't understand it any more than you, but that's the way it is. Be happy that you'll get credit for closing the case in record time. You did some good work here ... got the plate number confirmed, and it led to the perp. The New Orleans PD gets credit too, so our relations get a bump. It was nice work getting the murder weapon ID'd."

"Yeah, Dan -- nice work! I don't remember the cops even finding a hammer when they searched the truck the first time. What kind of police work is that? And why did Washington get involved in the first place? You got an answer for that? Hell, a jet liner could fly into city hall here and DOJ wouldn't interfere with the FBI's investigation. Something's rotten, and you know it!"

The Special Agent in Charge, SAC, tried to maintain eye contact with his top agent, but she was right. But what could he do? Whatever decisions were made came from way above his pay grade, above the FBI for that matter. Besides, he wasn't going to be in Cajon country much longer. That was another part of what he'd been told.

"It doesn't matter now, Michelle, just drop it and move on to your other cases. This should never have been our case in the first place." He wasn't right, they both knew it. Local murder investigations generally didn't involve the FBI, but this was a federal officer killed.

"Look, Dan, we've known each other a while. I'm gonna dig upstairs. I need to know what's going on, even if you don't care." She almost closed his door for privacy to remind him of their "special" relationship but didn't go that far.

When she'd moved down from the Des Moines office three years before, he'd pursued her. He'd completely disregarded the taboo against fraternization another agent. A huge flare-up had resulted when she discovered his marriage. The affair ended abruptly, almost as soon as it began, but the tension it created had continued between them, just below the surface, in any dialogue. Adam Maimon, her junior partner, suspected something, but didn't know the details. This time, she wasn't asking for her boss's permission; fuck him! She was going to make some calls whether he liked it or not. She stormed out.

She needed to cool down. She knew better than chasing questions up the chain of command when angry. She had a friend from the Academy at headquarters. He'd had a crush on her and would do anything she asked. She hadn't ever asked for his favor before and would probably offer dinner next time she got to DC. But before talking to anyone, she needed to cool down, which meant a fast jog along Lake Shore Drive, near the office. There was nothing cool about the weather outside, but exercise was her way to relax.

About an hour later, she returned to the federal building, showered and was at her desk when he called. "Agent McAndrew, this is Boyd Jassop over at Rockefeller Preserve. I heard on the news this morning that they got the guy who killed my ranger, Amanda Bryant."

"Hi, Boyd, yes, that's what I understand, also."

"Ah, what can you tell me? I wanna know if any of my other people are in some kind of danger."

"I can't answer that yet, Boyd. It's all still under investigation." It was trite, but she didn't have anything official yet, other than an order from her boss. There was no more investigation, at least not officially.

"Look, I don't like being told the standard line. I'm not some reporter. This happened on my turf to my people, and I should be getting details."

"Boyd, maybe you should call the police, they know more than we do."

"Look, Agent, from one fed to another: is there some reason that we Forest Rangers are in danger? I need to tell my team; they'll all be asking."

She rested her elbow on the desk, forehead in her finger tips. "Boyd, listen, I'm as much in the dark as you right now. I'll try to get more information and let you know soon."

He was right, she knew it. She felt like an idiot. It was a FBI case, her case, and she was being told that it was already solved!

Junior

Taylor was finishing at the gym when she called. She was hesitant, hardly audible. "Mike, it's Sarah ... Chase."

Who's Sarah? OMG ... Sarah.

"Sarah? Is it really you?" He recognized the voice, a little more mature, but still her voice. He didn't know what else to say.

"Yeah, it's me. I got your number from your momma. She didn't wanna give it to me at first, but I guess your daddy and mine still help each other during harvest and, well, that's how I got it."

"Um, ah, how are you?"

"We're fine. Me and Mike Junior, we're okay. That's kinda why I called."

He didn't know what to say next. Questions were circling in his mind. He still imagined her as his teenage lover. Where did she live? Was she married? What about Mike, Jr.? ... He had too many thoughts to concentrate.

Before he could say anything, she continued. "Mike (pause), Mike I know I shoulda contacted you before. I shoulda stayed in touch. You should know about your son. He's a good boy. I shoulda looked for you after high school. It just didn't work out."

He thought she might be crying. "Sarah, what ... ah, why are you calling me now?"

"We need to talk. It's about Mike, Jr. Actually, it's about me, but I need to talk to you about Mikey."

"Yeah ... okay, shoot. Are you anywhere near me in Cameron?" He wasn't sure how to react after so many years, but she was, after all, his first love.

"I'm in Corpus. Daddy sent me to live with my aunt after, you know, Mikey came. He didn't want me communicating with anyone back home." Taylor would have been her only contact.

"I didn't know. I used to think about you a lot. My dad sent me away, too. After school, I went in the Army. I used to think about you all the time. I was really lonely sometimes, and you were always on my mind. I guess you've changed?"

"Maybe. I hope in a good way. We were just kids, you an' me. I guess I'm a little filled out since we was kids, but folks say I'm good-looking.

"I didn't finish school. My Aunt Inez got me a job and took care of the baby. He's in fifth grade now, doin' real good. I think he looks like you, Mike, but that's just my opinion, since nobody here knows you to compare. I guess everybody thinks I'm divorced or somethin', but they don't generally ask. I think some of the women know how I came to be a momma so young, but everyone's polite, and they don't ask."

Why is she calling me now after all these years? Is there some emergency? "Wow, Sarah, I didn't ever expect to hear from you again. This is really a surprise."

"I know, Mike. I shoulda called you before, a long time before now. I guess I was ashamed or somethin', and you never tried to contact me either, as far as I know. You weren't interested in me or in our son."

She was right, but she made it seem crueler than he would have intended. "Sarah, I don't know what to say. I think about you a lot, but, I guess, I just felt like I might be interfering in your life now."

"It's not like that, Mike. I don't have much of a life. I just go to work, pay my bills and try to keep up with Mikey in school. He's a good boy and in ever'thing. I try, but I can't be the kinda mom he should have. Anyway, he's a good student and stays out of trouble. That's why I called."

He was sitting on a bench in the locker room near a couple other guys he knew, who were getting dressed. "What's it about, Sarah?"

"Okay. You see, Mike, I met a fellow. He's a good man and loves me. We wanna start a life together, but Mikey's ... well, he's kinda in the way. That don't sound right. Me and Owen, that's his name, we love each other and talk about havin' a family and all, but it ... well, Mikey just doesn't fit. You see, Owen, he's got kids of his own, grown kids, and he can't have more around him. I know it sounds selfish of me, but I can't give Mikey what he needs and, well, if you was in a position to be his father and do father things with him, he'd have a better life." She was sobbing quietly on her own words.

After she composed herself for a moment, she continued. "If I had to choose between Mikey and Owen right now, Mikey would win of course, but then I got to thinkin' about you. If you could take Mike, Jr. to live with you, he could have the father he hasn't had, and me an Owen, we could have a new life.

"Mike, I live in an old trailer workin' for tips in a greasy diner. Owen manages a store, a tire store, and makes good money. This is my chance. If me and Owen got married, we could have a nice life in a real house and all. So, you see, I just had to call you. I guess I don't know anything about you, though. Mike, you were the only person I could call. I have a chance to have a normal life, but I gotta be sure my son is getting something good too. Since he's your son too, I thought ... well, maybe you might want to have him with you."

He wasn't ready to give her a firm "yes or no" answer yet. He needed time to figure it all out. But, he gave her the abbreviated Mike Taylor story, without mentioning Nicky Bryant.

Runaround

"Look, Taylor, I'm just trying to get more details. They say the guy killed Amanda Bryant, but that doesn't tell me why. I've got twelve other rangers to care about here at the park, and we don't know the guy's motive. So, I'm calling you to see if you've got connections with the NOPD and can find out why she was killed."

"Boyd, I'm not sure what I can learn, but I'll make some calls."

"Don't bother calling the FBI, you'll get some official line that doesn't say anything. I tried, and it was a dead end. I'm gonna run it up the flag pole on my end but don't expect to get anywhere. So, Mike, if you can get any information, I'd really appreciate it."

"Sure, Boyd, I'll try. If the PD has any more information, I should be able to get it."

Mike wasn't alone. At least, Boyd was also wondering about the motive for killing a young woman. She hadn't been molested, so it had to be something else. But that wasn't all that bothered Taylor. He couldn't quite understand it, but instinct told him something was not right. The police solved the murder too quickly, or it was too easy ... something wasn't right. Boyd's call just amplified his own feelings. Boyd has his reasons, Taylor had his.

Hours later, the phone range at the Bryant's house in Maine. Nicky's father answered and called Nicky. "It's for you, Nicole, he says he's a Sherriff's Deputy down in Louisiana, got a clear southern accent."

"I'll take it up here, Daddy." Millie had gone down easily and Nicky was resting in her room before joining her parents for the evening news.

Sometime later, she joined them in the family room. Her gait down the stairs was noticeably more energetic than usual. Her mother said, "What's the Sheriff got to say, Nicole?"

She hadn't told her parents about dining with Taylor. In fact, she hadn't mentioned him at all. She'd only said that she'd talked with the FBI and they had the case. The Sheriff wasn't involved. "He's in the local Sheriff's office in Cameron, Louisiana. I met him at the ranger station when I first arrived. At first, it seemed like it could be their case, but it wasn't."

"So, why is he calling you now?"

"It's kinda complicated. He's gotten to know Ranger Jassop, and they talk back and forth about the case."

Her father responded. "I thought the New Orleans Police solved it."

"That's what they say, Daddy. But, I guess some of the other people down there want to keep investigating. They don't know why Amanda was killed, and it's important. It could be that the other Forest Rangers are in danger."

Her mother asked, "So, why do they need to call you? You don't know anything more."

"I know that, Momma, but they just want to keep me informed."

If her mom and dad suspected anything else, they didn't say more. They knew their daughter, particularly the younger, flirtier, version. They talked about her in private, partly because she had become reclusive after Millie was born and partly because they feared she'd do something stupid again if a certain kind of man came along. They also worried that she'd end up as an old recluse. Both extremes were possibilities and equally worrisome.

Something about the call from Taylor excited her. When Daddy had said a Sheriff's Deputy, she was no longer tired. Now, sitting with her parents, under their scrutiny, she reflected on it. There wasn't really any good reason for him to call. He'd simply wanted to tell her that he'd talked to the NOPD and hadn't learned anything. She smiled to herself. Mike Taylor just wanted to talk to her, even with no new information.

Dad broke her train of thought, "So, Nicole, I was thinking about going down to Louisiana to gather up Amanda's things and close down her apartment. I figure I could fly down and drive back in a rental truck or her car, just depending on how much stuff she had that we want to keep."

"So, when should we plan to go, Daddy?"

"Well, I'm not sure you need to go. If I don't know exactly what to keep, I can just bring it back here and go through it. I can get utilities shut off and get the bills mailed here. If there's a landlord problem, he can either settle with us up here or we just breach the lease and he can try to get us to pay something from up here. I don't think he'll want that. Can't think of a reason you need to go down again and maybe lose some of your clients."

He was right, but she still wanted to come. "Believe me, Dad, it's a different country there. I know some of the people now. I can make a big difference."

Her mother was most concerned. She'd worried when Nicky had rushed down there when Amanda was missing, she didn't want to risk losing another daughter. Like Nicky had said ... it was another country. "Now, Nicole, your father can take care of things just fine. You need to tend to your daughter and your customers."

"Mom, Dad, I want to go down there. I want to see some of the people in charge and find out what's going on."

Her father objected, "They got the guy who killed Amanda; we don't need to know anything more than that. Besides, it's only for a day of two, and we don't need to waste a lot of time talking to strangers."

"Daddy, they're not strangers. Some were Amanda's friends, and some I met trying to solve the case."

They knew their daughter. After exchanging glances, her mother said, "Now, Sweetheart, is there some other reason you want to go back?"

The Drive

He'd been driving for almost six hours. Taylor didn't know what to expect. He could make the round trip to Corpus Christie in one very long day, but he had decided to stay at a motel near the beach. He could spend a full day getting to know Sarah again and, hopefully, bonding a little with his son. "His son" -- it didn't seem real. He'd always known about Mike, Jr., but hadn't really thought about him as his own. He'd never seen him nor felt like a father.

Nearing the motel, something like fear occurred. It had been a long time since he'd been nervous about anything, but he was connecting with his past, a past with a big gap. He had loved Sarah half a lifetime ago, they had loved each other, but they were kids and they were torn apart. They'd been kids having a kid of their own. Sarah would have been with their son since birth. Mike never met him. How would it be, seeing his first love again? How would Sarah react? Would they embrace, or would they be strangers? What would Mike, Jr. think of him ... could he understand why his father was never around? Sarah and Taylor hadn't discussed it over the phone. He didn't know anything about his son. Would Sarah have explained things to him? There were too many unanswered questions. For the first time in his adult life, Taylor felt he could panic.

It took a few minutes to locate the motel along the waterfront, with a seemingly endless line of small unfamiliar signs. Once in the room, his trepidation continued. He briefly thought about spending a few hours alone, resting, then driving back home without fulfilling his mission. It passed. He wanted to see Sarah. One way or the other, this would put an end to his fantasies about the life together that they would never have. In his mind, he wanted to grab the girl of his dreams and steal her away, run like hell back to Cameron. But, she wasn't that girl anymore. In a few minutes, the dream he'd carried for a dozen years would end.

The diner wasn't hard to find. It was exactly as she'd described it. He parked in back under overhanging Loblolly pines, where they had agreed to meet. He stood beside the truck in the shade, alone in the lot, surrounded by empty cars and trucks, waiting for her to exit through the rear door. Could she see him now? Was she standing behind the screen door in the shadows, looking at him, deciding to come out or not? Then she appeared. He knew her immediately, even though she had matured. In his dreams, she was still the skinny farm girl in blue jeans with straight home-cut blond hair and freckles. The years had been kind, she was a beautiful woman. Sarah moved toward him with the kind of confident smile that said she understood his reaction. She'd developed in all the right places and had a radiant smile. Her face still had the childish quality he envisioned.

She smiled widely, walking briskly, then threw her arms around him, squeezing him. It was like two lovers meeting again after a long separation. He embraced her, smelling the freshness of her hair, just as he'd dreamed. They held each other for half a minute, neither wanting to let go. She released him, almost inviting a kiss, saying, "You look wonderful, Mike." Then she laid her head against his chest again.

He stroked her hair. "God, Sarah, I can't believe this is happening. You don't have any idea how long I've wanted to hold you again."

"Me too. Oh, Mike, why did we wait so long? I've missed you all my life."

He felt her quiver slightly, then push back slowly. She said, "Let's go meet your son."

Subversion

If Ramos thinks he knows me, he doesn't have a clue. "Come on, Adam, let's take a ride." Agent McAndrews didn't wait for her partner to respond and was already out the front of the federal building before he caught up.

"Where we going, Michelle?"

"Just get in the car before that idiot Ramos comes running after us. I'll explain while you drive."

It was approaching a hundred degrees and ninety percent humidity when they arrived at Gracie's DeBlanc's trailer around noon. Even in the shade surrounding the place, it was unbearably hot as they approached the front door. An ancient water evaporative cooler made a high-pitched squeal somewhere in the back.

They approached the building carefully. People living like this in Louisiana could be dangerous. Stepping up the rusted metal steps, McAndrews knocked and announced loudly, "Ms. DeBlanc, FBI, we would like to talk to you." There was no answer, and she knocked again.

Agent Maimon looked around at the junky yard. "There's an old sedan with current registration over there, so she's probably around somewhere."

It's second nature for an investigator to try the door knob. It wasn't locked. They'd heard the stories about Gracie's bad manners, greeting with a shotgun, but McAndrews pushed the door inward anyway, half expecting a gunshot. They listened for a few moments, but heard no sounds that would indicate someone moving inside. McAndrews entered first with her gun drawn. "Ms. DeBlanc, FBI, are you in here?"

At that moment both agents were overcome by the smell. Neither had experienced the odor of a decaying human corpse before.

Hours later, after the police and CSI had arrived, they had returned to the office and McAndrews was summoned to the Special Agent in Charge, SAC's, office – her boss.

"What were you doing there, Michelle?"

She stood at attention, not because she respected her boss, but because she'd already irritated him too much. "I had some questions for the victim."

Dan Ramos didn't like insubordination. "I told you to stay away from the case!"

"I just had a few questions."

"Dammit, Michelle, I gave you an order."

"We found a dead human, Dan. I think we deserve a pass this time."

"Why? You think that makes a difference?"

She glared. "Yes, I do, Dan! Look, think, another headline: The FBI discovers a murder victim while investigating another murder. Or should it read: While not investigating another murder, and in contradiction of a direct order, FBI agents discovered...and so on. Which is it going to be?"

"Your sarcasm isn't appreciated! You broke my trust, and I'm gonna do something about it."

"You mean like the trust your wife has in your marriage!" The door was closed.

"Get out!"

Mikey

Taylor followed Sarah to her single-wide in a nicely kept trailer park. It wasn't a palace, but he'd seen worse. She parked her older Honda in the carport under an awning, giving it complete shade. It was long enough for two cars, but he stayed in front of her place, which had a full-length flower bed with many plants, all in bloom. Leave it to a farm girl to raise a healthy crop. He could have picked Sarah's home amongst all the others.

She opened the passenger door of his truck. "Okay, you got the shiny wheels, so let's go to the school. It ain't far, and Mikey will sure be surprised by this ride."

It was only two miles to the grammar school where they were in a line of cars with all the other parents, waiting for the final bell of the day. Taylor couldn't help staring at his childhood girlfriend. "Sarah, I can't believe this. After these years, we're actually together again. You're beautiful. You always were to me, but the years have been good to you."

She smiled. "You look good too, Mike. My years have been mostly good, but not all o' them. You know how folks look at a pregnant young girl. That time was tough, that time with a small baby and no more school for me. People looked at me like trailer-trash for a long time. I guess they were right, too. I do live in a trailer now."

"Yeah, I know how people think. But it's what's inside that matters, I don't think anyone would look down on you now."

"You only see what you want, Mike. I don't even make minimum wage. Momma helps some, but you know what it's like on a small East Texas farm -- no millionaires where we come from."

He wanted to be positive. "You could move back home, you know ... people change over time, and you're a grown woman now."

"Really ... really, Mike? You think those kids we knew when we were young who're working their own farms now or selling insurance and having their first babies would forget? They don't forget."

"Sarah, I wish it was different." He took a chance, saying, "If you were back in Cameron with me, I wouldn't let anything bad happen. It's a long way from Beaumont, and, well, it just wouldn't happen."

She smiled at his feeble attempt: maturity and eleven years as a mother did that. "That's nice Mike, but we have different lives now. I've got a man, and my life's gonna be different soon." She looked out the window, avoiding his eyes.

"Sarah, I ..."

"Look, there he comes."

Mike, Jr. was walking along the line of cars, looking for his mother. When she stepped out of Taylor's newer pickup, he smiled and stopped, wondering about the situation. Who was the man driving? From inside, Taylor thought he would have known Mike, Jr. anywhere. He looked like Sarah, with her coloring, but with the square features Taylor saw in his own mirror. The younger Mike was tall, like his father.

Sarah motioned the boy to the open door. "Mikey, I want you to meet your father, Mike, Senior."

The boy climbed up into the truck cab and sat in the middle of the bench seat. His eyes never left Taylor. "How do you do, sir?" He held out his hand to shake, like a boy approaching manhood faster than most.

"I'm fine, young man ... son. It's a pleasure meeting you." They shook with a firm grip.

Sarah sat next to her son as Taylor pulled away from the curb slowly. "Mikey, you remember how I told you about how me and Mike, Sr., your daddy, grew up on farms together."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, we lost track of each other before you were born, but now we found each other. What do you think of that?"

The boy took a long look at his father. "Momma said you had to leave her. That was mean."

Taylor had little experience with youngsters, mostly as a deputy handling domestic abuse situations. Mike, Jr. seemed more mature than the other kids he'd met. Taylor was unsure of himself. "You're momma's right, Mike. I don't know that I have a good answer. Maybe, over time, some of it will make sense, but not now."

Sarah injected. "Be polite, Mikey. This is hard on Mr. Taylor, just like it's been hard on us. He's a good man, a policeman, it'll take some time, and maybe we won't ever know how to make it right. Just think what he's missed out on by not being with you and me all these years. It ain't been easy on him either."

"Don't use 'ain't' momma. It sounds ignorant."

"Whatever, Mikey ... you need to have an open mind toward Mr. Taylor. Give him a chance."

"I don't need to call him daddy, do I?"

Taylor said, "No, you don't need to call me anything particular. You can call me Mike, or Taylor, or Mr. Taylor, or Deputy, or ... whatever you want. I didn't come here to force my way back into your life. I've been away too long for that. Until your momma found me, I didn't know anything about you, either of you."

Mike, Jr. answered. "Did you ever try to find us? How hard would it be ... you could just call Grandpa, he knew where we are."

Taylor started to answer but Sarah interrupted. "Now don't be rude, Mikey, Mr. Taylor wanted to come to meet us, to meet you. He doesn't deserve your sassin'."

"Why not, momma? It's not like he ever cared about us. He's been living his life and not caring about us. If he doesn't like what I say now, or doesn't want to help you, then why do I need to be nice? I know something. I know that I was a mistake. You had to live with me all my life and take care of me. He just left and went away."

She looked away, out the window. They were back at the trailer and no one wanted to talk. Sarah put her hand on the door handle, but didn't open it immediately.

Taylor looked over. "I need to go back to the hotel now. How about I come get you both for dinner, say around six o'clock?"

She smiled sweetly while Mike, Jr. looked down, embarrassed. "We'd like that ... see you then. Come on, Mikey."

As they exited and he drove away, Taylor started processing what his son had said. He'd been right, every single thing was right. Every word was valid. Taylor could make excuses, but that was all, just excuses. His son was insightful for a fifth-grader. He was also completely honest. Sarah had taken the full burden of the pregnancy. His father had pulled him away from her, but he could have tried to reconnect when he was on his own. He hadn't. How could he justify that; how could he change things now? He couldn't.

That same day, in Maine, Nicky was making plans with her father to return to Louisiana. Her father said, "Nicole, it's expensive to fly down there again. I could just go alone and drive back with Amanda's things. You shouldn't need to go again."

"Dad, I'm going. That's it and I don't want to debate it anymore."

"You're stubborn, Daughter. You always have been. Don't you think Millie deserves her mother? And don't you think your mother deserves a break?"

"Mom will be fine. She wants me to go." She went upstairs to pack.

NOPD

It was nearly three o'clock when Taylor returned to the motel and remembered to switch his phone from Airplane mode. It wasn't a setting he'd ever used much, but he hadn't wanted any interruptions while meeting Sarah and Mike, Jr. One message was from the New Orleans Police, Detective Sean O'Malley. Taylor wanted to rest and think about his son and Sarah, but he also wanted to know more about the Bryant case.

The phone call was answered. "O'Malley."

"Hello, Detective, this is Cameron Deputy Mike Taylor, I left you a message."

"Yes, Deputy, how can I help you?"

"We heard that you ID'd the killer of our homicide over in Cameron, Amanda Bryant."

"Yes, that's correct."

"Good ... good show. Ah, what can you tell me about it?"

"I can't say anything that will get back to the press."

"That's not my reason for calling. The folks over at the park where Ms. Bryant was killed need to know what precautions they should be taking. You got any motive established for the killing?"

O'Malley became less spontaneous. His speech slowed perceptively. "We don't have anything firm yet. We got the murder weapon and fingerprints, that's about it for now."

"So, you got a dead guy and his hammer ... is that correct?"

"Ah, yep."

"You got any motive? Why'd he kill the girl?"

"Well, that's not exactly clear yet. We're working with the FBI on this, you know, and they're investigating a little further. You should probably look around your area too since it happened in Cameron. It's not our territory."

Taylor was not satisfied. "Look, Detective, we were pulled off this thing by the FBI, and I can't get them to say anything. They say talk to you. I get a feeling that nobody's working this case."

"I don't know what to tell you, Taylor, we weren't ever really on your case. We were working on the DeBlanc murder and just came across the evidence involving the Bryant case."

"Okay, so tell me, how come the hammer wasn't reported? You guys holding back on forensics, trying to keep the press in the dark?"

"No, not really. The truck was put in our impound lot and checked by CSI. The weapon wasn't reported at first."

"So, you had it but didn't report it, right?"

"I think so. The report doesn't exactly say that. It just says a second check was made, and the hammer was found."

"You mean they missed a hammer the first time? Seems like a hard thing to miss?"

"Yeah, but it happens. Coulda been an oversight in the report, or it coulda been missed during the initial search."

"Why the second search?"

"I really can't answer that, Deputy."

"You don't know, or won't say?

"I really don't know."

"Seems like a lotta unknowns here, Detective."

"Okay, well, Deputy, it's been nice talking to you, and we always like to assist our local partners in crime solving. I've gotta go, so y'all have a nice day." The line went dead.

Taylor wasn't tired any more. He still wanted to think about things before dinner, but also wanted to make another call, this time to Boyd Jassop.

"Boyd, it's Mike Taylor, you got a minute?"

"Sure, Taylor, what's up?"

"I just talked to New Orleans PD. They don't have any more information. At this point, it sounds like the FBI is working on a motive for Bryant's death. The NOPD is working on their own case for the guy who got murdered; the guy they think killed Ms. Bryant."

"Okay, thanks, Taylor. I'm still waiting on my end to see if headquarters can get any more on the FBI investigation."

"Thanks, Boyd, I just think we need to keep the heat on this. Sometimes we get forgotten down here with our brown pelicans."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

Boyd continued, "Hey, I got some other news. I just heard a couple hours ago. I got reassigned to Castle Mountain in California as a promotion." Boyd had petitioned headquarters for a transfer west soon after moving to Louisiana. "It's in the desert, a lot closer to my daughters. It's not my first choice, but it's a lot bigger park with a step increase in salary. I only wish we knew for sure that Amanda Bryant's murder was solved."

"Well, good luck to you, Boyd. I can't think of a better reason to want to move than your children." Taylor recognized his own hypocrisy. "You were good for the park, and I enjoyed working with you."

He felt a headache beginning. In a couple hours, he'd be taking Sarah and Mike, Jr. to dinner and didn't have any clue what it would be like. It also seemed like Nicky's sister's case was coming to an end. Several impossible situations had converged. Emotions swirled in his mind. Maybe I should just go to Gulfport for a long fishing trip, somewhere near South America!

Secure

Jagneaux didn't trust his car or his home. Both could be bugged – they probably were. He only made "business" calls from his speedboat at sea, using disposable phones. There was no place to hide a surveillance transmitter on board the boat with enough range to hear him this far out. "Yeah, I can get the stuff there tonight."

The voice responded, "Jus' be sure you's on time, man. Me an' my bros, we don' like hangin' too long. Quick in, quick out, tha's it, understand?"

"Look man, I don't want the product around me either, so you'll get it fast as I can get it to you. You just be there when I get there."

There was no response. He didn't expect one. He'd need to deliver it himself to those slimes in the swamp, the same guys who'd enjoyed torturing Leroy to death. These weren't human beings. He'd seen enough episodes of The Walking Dead to fear these guys.

The weather along the Gulf Coast was volatile, impossible to predict except when a hurricane was coming – they were easier to predict. Any other time, the combination of heat, humidity, atmospheric pressure, and lunar cycles could cause rapid storms to develop without warning. He could lose his drones and the cargo with them. Worse, he could miss a shipment to these goons and end up like Leroy.

If he ever needed justification for what he did for money, it was the risk he took in this business. He needed to talk to the Big Man to be sure the next shipment was coordinated with Carlos, his boat captain. He hated the Big Man, but he didn't have a choice. All the products came from him. It wasn't clear what role the man played. He was a middleman between the cartel and Jagneaux's operation.

Johnny Jagneaux was a two-bit used car dealer when he found the man. He got the idea of using drones from Amazon commercials and started putting the business plan together, including buying the fishing boat he would use to transport across the Gulf. It was a legitimate commercial boat with an experienced crew from Venezuela. Carlos ran the boat, which had been owned by a government agency that was doing poorly under communist controls. When Jagneaux looked for a boat, he needed to find an operator who could actually catch shrimp to pass Coast Guard inspections, but was also willing to work outside the law. Carlos was the right man. He'd been fed up with his bureaucratic government. The boat remained registered in Caracas, but under private ownership. If it was nationalized again, it was a minor concern since it was paid for with the first deliveries made at the beginning of Jagneaux's operation. He and Carlos had no financial risk regarding the fishing boat at this point. There was money at risk in each shipment until it was delivered to the crips and paid for, but it was small compared to the money they'd already made.

When Jagneaux first outlined the plan to Carlos, it was the captain who said he had some contacts across the border in Columbia and could get the product. He'd never done it before, but he was sure it was no problem. Jagneaux liked the idea. He was glad not to deal with the drug suppliers directly. Carlos did it. Some weeks after starting, Carlos found the Big Man and brought him to meet with Jagneaux somewhere in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico. They didn't know his name; the man wouldn't give it. But he'd proven to be a reliable source.

He found Glen Puritz online to build the drones. Glen was a hobbyist with questionable legal ethics. He had learned more about Jagneaux's operation than healthy, but programming the birds could only be done by Glen. They had scared him enough to understand the peril he faced if he ever betrayed them. Glen was paid very well for programming services after building the drones. He could also be implicated in the business.

The way Jagneaux looked at it, there were several risks. He didn't trust the Big Man or the gangs, but he could minimize contact with both of them. Over time, this proved to be more of a problem than he'd expected. Rather than remaining secretive with them, both sides knew little bits about him. He worried that they knew more: his name, address, his fishing boat and crew. The cartel and the crips scared him. They were ruthless – sadistic. Jagneaux was no angel, but these people weren't even human. Now that everything was working smoothly, he couldn't leave the business. Nobody would let him out. He was trapped.

The other risk he took was with the US law. If his operation was ever uncovered, he would go to prison for life. It could be even worse -- the death penalty -- if Amanda's murder was traced to him. Leroy was the main witness, but the Big Man also knew about Jagneaux's role. He'd actually killed the girl.

He tried not to think about it, but all these aspects, the risks, the murder, the technical problems, the weather ... it was a crushing pressure on him.

He called Carlos on his encrypted radio, "You in position for tonight?"

"Yes. It is rough for launching tonight, and I don't like the weather, but we only got two going. We will be ready to launch in position at the right time."

The plan was to launch the drones two minutes apart at three o'clock in the morning when the fishing boat was twenty-five miles off shore, on a direct course to the recovery point. The weather was a huge concern. If anything went wrong, he'd miss the delivery to the gang. They could act irrationally when something went wrong. It caused shivers thinking about it, thinking about Leroy. I need to find someone to do my deliveries now that Leroy is gone!

Jagneaux started the engines and turned for home port, pushing throttles hard against the stops. He'd be at the recovery spot when the drones arrived.

Dinner

Taylor was on time, six, outside Sarah's trailer. He started to get out of his truck but she came bounding toward him as soon as he'd stopped. She was alone. "Where's Mike? I invited both of you."

She smiled. "I let him stay in and order a pizza. He's got homework, and I thought we should have some time alone to talk."

"Sounds like a good idea. How about Harrison's Landing? I looked online."

"It's nice. Owen an' me went there on our first date. It isn't cheap, but it's nice."

Owen -- the name resonated. Taylor didn't know why, but he felt a twinge of jealousy. This tire store manager had stolen his girl. She wasn't really his girl, far from it, but it felt that way. Taylor had known Sarah intimately before anyone else. That first experience was something they shared and would always be there in the background, no matter what relationship, if any, they would have in the future. He glanced over at her. Her radiance brought back memories. It was like time had reversed ... but it hadn't. He felt like they could rush back to his father's barn and continue where they'd left it so many years ago. But it could never happen. They'd been apart all of their adult lives and experienced much broader worlds than their farms.

Sarah was a single mom, scraping a living along the Texas coast, and he'd been a soldier and was now a cop. Other than their childhood, they had nothing in common ... nothing but a son.

He said, "We could go somewhere else if this is special between you two."

"No, it's fine. I like the food. Me and Owen, we got kinda a strange relation. He's been coming to the diner for years, mostly cause o' me, I imagine. Anyway, we'd been talkin', like counter talk, for a long time and finally he started askin' me out. One thing and another, he asks me to move in with him."

"Move in ... you mean like being married?" He tried not to sound judgmental.

"Sorta. He says we should try it to see if we're compatible."

"Well, it's none of my business, but what does 'compatible' mean?"

"He's been married a long time. He wants a divorce, so he can't actually get married to me just yet. He says it's only a few months before he's completely free."

Taylor didn't comment further. He knew she wasn't stupid. She was smart, she'd gotten better grades than he in school.

The restaurant was nearby, and they were seated immediately. They both ordered a beer and began reading the menu. He asked, "Since you've been here before, got any recommendations?"

"I've only been here once, but the shrimp was good."

A few minutes later, they had ordered and sat sipping their drinks. "Sarah, I can't help saying again how beautiful you are, still are."

"Thanks, Mike, you're okay yourself."

It was like a magnetic field existed between them. At least Mike felt it. It was like they'd never been apart. "Sarah, I'd like to know about you and Mike, Jr. He's a nice boy. What does he like to do? What do you do together?"

"Are you sure, Mike? I called you 'cause o' my situation. Mikey's kinda in the middle, and he don't deserve to be shucked around. He's my sweetheart, the best son anyone could want, but he has some issues as you've seen. It bothers him a lot that he don't have a father. Owen is kind of an intruder to him. He doesn't say it, but I know he would never want Owen as his father. Maybe if we'd gotten together a long time ago, then it would be different, but Owen had his own family, and it didn't happen."

Taylor got the gist of it. "So, is Owen older?"

"His kids are grown. He's been comin' to the diner for a few years, mostly eats breakfast. I think he and his wife, they don't like bein' around each other much. Anyway, I see him almost every day."

"So, his children are grown, and he started going out with you, the younger pretty girl who needs a father for her son and has no other prospects. Is that right?"

"You don't get to judge him! Where were you? You and me, we don't have any relation and I'll thank you not to make judgements about me or him."

"Sorry ... I'm sorry, Sarah. I have no right to say anything about you or anyone important to you. But, please let me explain.

"When my father sent me away, I didn't know you were pregnant. They didn't tell me anything. I was a young boy, barely older than Mike, Jr. For all I knew, you wanted it that way. I didn't understand any of it. After I finished high school, I was too scared to come home. I don't know why, but I was scared of you and what might have changed. I was scared of everything back home. My mother only told me you'd been pregnant a couple of years after I joined the Army.

"I thought about trying to contact you then, but so much time had gone by that I figured you had a new life. We were just kids when we knew each other and so much had changed by then. I was a different person and figured you were too. I got a picture you sent of Mikey, but you never answered mine."

She pouted. "Inez, my Aunt Inez, she must o' stopped it."

He went on, "Anyway, I learned how to be a cop in the Army, military style. After that, I didn't want to go back home. I dreamed about you all the time, and I think I was afraid of what would happen if we suddenly ran into each other. I figured that you might blame me for abandoning you, or maybe you wanted me gone because I'd gotten you pregnant. It wasn't my doing, leaving, but I was gone from your life anyway.

"There's never been a day since then that I didn't think about you. I even did some searching on Facebook and other media looking for clues, something that would fill in the void.

"Mike, Jr's right, I could have called your father to find you. I really don't have a good explanation for that. I just think, during the years my dreams became more important than reality, and the reality could be scary. I didn't have the courage to face it."

She was quiet for several moments, and then the food arrived. They ate slowly, glancing at each other, before she spoke. "Mike, I don't blame you for anything. We both made a mistake when we were kids. Or, maybe it wasn't a mistake, and we were just younger than most. Things happened, and we can't go backward. We can only go forward and forget the past.

"I got dreams, too. Most o' them have you in them. You aren't a lot different than I expected. If I have regrets, it's that Mikey hasn't had a daddy. I try to be both, but he needs a man. I can't throw a ball well enough and go fishin' and do the other things like a father should do with his son. But I won't ever regret having him. He's part me ... and part you. He keeps the dreams real for me."

It was a critical point. Taylor felt like reaching across the table and grabbing her hands. It was a stupid thought. They didn't really know each other. She'd contacted him so that she could have a life with another man. She loved her son, yet she was willing to trade him for a husband.

Taylor also wanted to confront Owen. Why wasn't Mike, Jr. acceptable to him? Why was her son a barrier to Sarah's happiness? Mike, Jr. was a great kid. He wasn't a problem for Taylor; he would take Sarah and Mike together. Why not this guy?

"Sarah, I want you to be happy. Whatever it takes, I want you happy. If that means Mikey should live with me, I'd be honored."

"I wish it was that simple, Mike. But there's another problem, I realize. I'm not sure I can let Mikey go, and I'm not sure he would be happy. He's always been my sweet boy, but he got upset after meeting you. No offense to you. But, I think he sees his world changing, and he doesn't want it. I can't say as I blame him. He's nearly a teenager and hasn't had a father. You waltzing in now created a problem. I guess I didn't expect it."

He understood. "Maybe we should slow this down, let Mike get to know me and me to know him."

She nodded. "Yeah, it's the only way. Me and Owen, we just gotta delay our plans. He won't be happy, but Mikey is the most important person to me. But, how you gonna be knowing Mikey, livin' so far away?"

"We'll just have to find a way."

Decision

"What's going on Rod? Why are my gates disapproved?" Boyd Jassop was on the phone with his Director in Washington. It was a simple request. The day after Amanda Bryant was discovered; Boyd had requested that gates be installed at all of the park entrances so they could be locked at dusk.

"I don't know, Boyd. They're not actually disapproved, just not approved yet. It's a simple request and a good idea. For some reason, the approval isn't coming from above. It's not a huge amount of money; I just don't understand it myself."

It was frustrating. Many of the National parks had road barriers for certain entrances at certain times. A Ranger had been murdered inside the park, and a gate would keep everyone out after dark. It made no sense. In fact, everything about Amanda's murder made no sense. The FBI claimed to know who killed her, but not the motive. His people could be in danger, and the gates would be a simple solution.

He was pondering it when the small Toyota drove in. It was Amanda's car, and Nicole was driving. There was an older man with her. They came in and Nicky introduced her father to Amanda's boss. They'd actually met at the funeral. Alexander (Alex) Bryant, was in his late fifties, about five-ten with brown hair, graying around the temples. He was a high school science teacher and track coach, in good physical shape. There was a strong family resemblance.

"Hello, Mr. Bryant, it's a pleasure meeting you again."

"Hello, Boyd, call me Alex. It was nice of you to come to Amanda's funeral. I wish I'd visited her here, I know she loved it."

"So, what brings you down here, Alex?"

"Oh, Nicole and I are here to close out Amanda's apartment and pick up a few things."

Nicky smiled, "We also want to know how the investigation is going."

Boyd shrugged, "Well, you probably know that they found the murder weapon in a pickup that belonged to a man who was also murdered. I understand that his fingerprints were the only ones on it."

She nodded. "Sure. We heard that the FBI thinks it's solved."

It seemed like more of a query to Boyd that a statement of fact. He responded. "Yeah, I wish I had more to say, but that's the line."

Dad said, "You don't sound convinced, Boyd."

"Look, Alex, I'm a federal employee and shouldn't be second-guessing the FBI. After all, it is the FBI! But I can't get it out of my mind that we still don't know why this happened. And until we do, I can't consider my other people safe."

It was obvious that he was frustrated. He wasn't alone. The Bryants left to start clearing out Amanda's things. As Nicky drove she said, "You know, Dad, I don't know anything about how crimes are investigated, but it seems like more needs to be done. So, they got a dead guy who had a hammer that had hair and blood that matches Amanda's ... case closed. It just doesn't seem right. Boyd's correct. Why was she killed? If they don't have that answer, then others could be in danger. It just seems like good police work to find out."

They drove on, discussing their mutual feelings that something was wrong. But her father just wanted to get the apartment closed and get away from there. He had one daughter left, and they'd never have Amanda back, no matter what else the police might find. He just wanted to get back to Maine and forget about this place where his little girl was murdered. They had memories of her and that was all they would ever have at this point. If there was more to the case, it wouldn't change anything. Alex just wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

Nicky wasn't feeling the same. She wanted closure, and it was just too simple that a hammer and dead guy was it. The dead man was tortured; the news said it, but why? If he was the killer, then great – suffer, pig. But what's the connection? Why was he killed? Why was Amanda killed and left in the swamp while this guy was tortured somewhere else? What's the connection? Nicky had come down wanting answers; now she had reason to wonder even further.

She also had a compelling urge to see a certain Deputy Sheriff again. Their time together had left an imprint. She liked it, she liked him. He was from another planet, but something had happened between them. She'd been in enough relationships to know it was mutual. Like, why did he call her a few days ago to tell her that nothing new developed from his discussion with New Orleans? He could have sent a text or just forgot about it. They knew there was no chance of anything more between them. Yet, when he offered to go with her to her sister's house, and the other time at dinner, there'd been a connection. She'd felt it, and so had he.

That night, after dinner with her father, they were settled in at a motel. Nicky took a walk and called Taylor's cell phone. He didn't answer, but she left a message that she was back in Cameron for a few days. He had his phone in "airplane" mode while walking with Sarah along the marina after dinner. At one point, he lifted her hand and kissed it after reflecting on a particularly romantic moment from their youth. They walked until sunset, then he took her home. They would meet again in the morning at the diner where she worked. It wouldn't be a place to talk seriously, but he was returning to Cameron, and she had to work.

The day with Sarah wasn't what Taylor had expected. In fact, he hadn't known what to expect. Underlying it was her plan to live with another man and to find a way for Taylor to bond with his son, maybe having him come live with him in the future. But, regardless of the theme, that wasn't what was happening. He and Sarah had had a spark that neither had expected. They'd both had their dreams crushed before. Tonight wasn't expected. It wasn't something either had intended to happen, but it had. Taylor relaxed on the motel bed, thinking about the girl who had filled his dreams for years. She was now a woman. And there was still a strong attraction. He couldn't help thinking about her. After several minutes of reflection, he took his phone from his pocket to check messages.

Her phone range. "Hello."

"Hi, Nicky, you're back in Cameron?"

"Yep, I thought I'd surprise you."

"Ah, yeah, it's a surprise all right. But I'm not in Cameron."

"What? Where are you?"

"Would you believe I met my son today? I'm in Corpus Christi, Texas. He lives here with his mother. I couldn't believe it. I have a son. He's real. I guess I always knew about him, but he's real, and I met him."

"That's wonderful, Mike. What's he like? Was it strange for him or for you?"

"Yeah, I guess it was for both of us. He's a little mad at me now, or scared that his life will change. He lives alone with his mother. They only have each other, and it's a close relationship."

"Wow, this is the girl you knew as kids from all those years ago?"

"Yeah. I can't really describe all the emotions. It was like going through a door to the past, except we're both grown now and have adult lives away from each other. It was weird, but nice."

"Gosh ... are you coming back?"

"Oh, yep. I'll be driving back tomorrow afternoon." He didn't mention seeing Sarah again. He had the same attraction to Nicky, as she had toward him, and he didn't want to disrupt that now. Sometime soon, he'd sort out his feelings, but right now he had two women on his mind, which was spinning.

Recovery

"Come on fucker, where are you?" He was talking to himself. Jagneaux hated the swamp at night. He was nearly in the same place where Leroy would wait for the drones. He was just a little closer to the highway with a better view if any rangers were inspecting things in the park at night. It was creepy dark, easy to imagine reptiles circling his Cadillac Escalade. The doors were locked with the windows up. Wind blew something against the side, startling him. He imagined a huge python falling from a tree and crawling forward to break a window and embedding its fangs in his throat before coiling around him. His hands shook.

He was more tech savvy than Leroy and used his iPhone to track the drones. He'd only been on the levee road less than five minutes when the first package was dropped. He waited for the second drop before turning on his lights and driving about fifty feet to collect them. Shit, still covered in red brick dust.

He wasn't wearing gloves and the dirty "bricks" would make a mess in his SUV. He needed to get word to the Big Man through Carlos to keep them clean as long as Jagneaux had to pick up himself. But that wasn't the worst thing he would do tonight. He had to deliver it to the plantation. He dreaded it. Every time he met with the scum he risked his life. Poor Leroy had suffered unbearable pain before being killed, just because Jagneaux had made a sarcastic suggestion about him to these guys. His business was only six months old, but two people were dead now because of him ... one he murdered and one because he had said something. None of this would have happened if things had gone right.

Around noon the next day, Jassop called Taylor. "Hey, Deputy, we got something."

"What's that Boyd, I'm driving back from Corpus."

"We had another visitor to the park last night, driving a big white SUV, looks like a Cadillac. We got his picture on one of the night cameras, same as the last guy. I guess that part wasn't in the news."

"Same part of the park?"

"Yep, and here's the best part, I got a full license number."

"Okay, look, Boyd, don't do anything with that video until I get there. I wanna put it through our lookup system and see if we get a name."

"You gonna tell the Sheriff?"

"Not yet. I think we should keep it between us for now." He didn't trust his boss, the Sheriff. The man had avoided investigating Amanda's murder, when there was no good reason ... none that made sense, other than fear of failure.

When Taylor got home, he showered and called Nicky. "Hey, wanna get together?"

She smiled and turned away from her father. "Yeah, I do. My dad's here through tomorrow, can he come along?"

It took some of the eagerness away, but he answered, "Sure. I'll pick you both up at four."

She smiled, anxious to see him. "Early ... sounds like it's not just dinner?"

"Right, it's a surprise."

Two hours later, Nicky and her father were waiting outside Amanda's apartment when Taylor arrived in his truck, all freshly showered and dressed. Her dad opened the door, and Nicky moved next to Taylor, all three sitting on the single bench seat of Taylor's pickup truck. It was the closest the two young people had been, physically, since they met. Both enjoyed it. She asked, "So, where're we going, Mike?"

"You ever ride on an airboat?"

She smiled at him in the mirror, "No, sounds exciting!"

Taylor knew it would be different from anything they'd done in Maine. He smiled. "We should see some eagle nests and tons of other birds on Lake Charles."

"Can we see some alligators? I didn't get to see any on my last trip here."

"Gators? Sure, gators are everywhere. We'll definitely see some gators, maybe even up close in a nest."

Her dad enjoyed the discussion, but stayed quiet. The younger people were communicating more than their words would indicate. He now had a better idea why Nicky had insisted on coming back again. The Deputy had just driven over six hours, showered and rushed to see his daughter. Dad smiled.

The boat ride was exhilarating. They were seat belted into elevated chairs only a few feet ahead of a Chevy V8 engine spinning a four-bladed propeller. They were protected from the blade by a large mesh screen, but the un-muffled engine would have been deafening if they weren't wearing commercial-grade ear muffs. It didn't matter. The flat-bottomed boat skimmed across the marsh grass like skis over snow. It was amazing! They saw all the wildlife Taylor had promised. Nicky enjoyed the adventure while her dad reaffirmed to himself that he never wanted to live anywhere near those large reptilians.

When it ended, they were wind burned from skimming across the water so fast with nothing blocking the wind. Alex had driven motorcycles when he was younger, and it brought back memories of some long trips without face protection.

Taylor paid for the ride, but Alex insisted on paying for dinner. Taylor knew a great Cajun place with outdoor seating under a thatch roof with local folk music. Nicky knew what to expect for finger food, but there were some surprises. Alex was experiencing everything for the first time. After some beers and too much to eat, they all felt tired from the day's activities. The conversation turned more serious. Alex said, "I can just imagine Amanda here. She loved the outdoors and nature. You've really got it here."

Taylor smiled, realizing the older man was getting melancholy. "It's different, for sure. I imagine she enjoyed it. Her sister sure does."

Her dad responded. "Yeah, but I think it's more than nature that brought her back here."

She smiled, "Okay, you guys, let's stop it right there. My private life is my own, and I'm not gonna get boxed in between two men. Let's just say that Amanda made a good choice."

It touched a nerve in her father that she regretted. "Yes, I think there were some positive aspects, although I wish she'd stayed closer to home ... can't do anything about it now." He rotated a beer glass between his hands.

Taylor was a little looser than usual and changed the subject. "Hey, I heard that they got a video of another truck in the park overnight. Looks like the same kinda thing we got the license from before." He should never have said it, but it was too late.

Nicky's interest peaked immediately. "How do you know this?"

"Ah, Boyd called me. I'm gonna check the license in the morning, but you need to keep this quiet – like I just failed to do."

She reacted. "Look, Mike, we have a stake in this, too. It's why I came down in the first place. I don't trust the cops on this. We need to do some investigating on our own."

He didn't want to spoil the evening, but had to respond. "Nicky, I am 'the cops.' I'm gonna follow procedure."

"Yeah, oh, sure, and your Sheriff is going to duck out on this one, too. It'll go nowhere. The FBI thinks Amanda's case is solved. For all they care, this would just be another trespassing case."

"Okay, I can do something. I can do some preliminary work on this, treat it as an unknown vehicle on park property. That's Boyd's domain. I can figure out who owns the car and check with Boyd to see if someone had permission to be there last night."

She smiled. "Boyd sent it to you because he didn't authorize anyone to be there."

"It's just a story; I didn't say it was true."

"I'm gonna work on this with you."

Alex chimed in. "Nicole, this isn't your business. I'm leaving in a rental truck in the morning and you need to come."

"Daddy, I can't. This'll fall into a hole if I don't stay."

"Let the Deputy do his job, and we can go home."

She looked at both men, "Sorry, guys, I can't leave. I don't believe they got the guy who killed Amanda. I wanna nail the bastard."

Taylor said. "Hold on, tiger. Your dad's right; you gotta leave this to the pros. If it's what it could be, these are drug people – very, very dangerous drug people."

She scrunched her face but didn't speak. Taylor added. "Look, Nicky, I may be going out of bounds here, but I'll try to keep this quiet and find out what I can. You need to stay out of it."

She showed an impish little grin. "Good. Daddy, I'll help you pack tomorrow, and you can leave on your own. You can take a couple days and stay in motels along the way. Don't drive too long and rest. I'm staying here to pester Deputy Taylor."

Both men knew they were defeated.

Breakthrough

Taylor called Jassop at seven o'clock the next morning, knowing he'd be alone in the office. "Hey, Boyd, it's Taylor, send me a screen shot of the vehicle plate you got two nights ago, then make a recording of the video and hide it. Don't tell anyone you have it."

"Okay, Mike, will do. I have a feeling you know what you're doing with this."

"Does anyone else know about the video?"

"No, I didn't tell anyone."

"Good. Keep it that way for now. I got a feeling it won't be a secret long, but for now, let's just say it's a car violating curfew at Rockefeller park and the local Deputy Sheriff, me, is trying to sort it out. I can't do much with it after searching the database unless I tell the Sheriff, but that's my problem. For now, it's just you and me."

"Sounds good, Mike, I'll send it over now."

Taylor was alone in his cubicle. The Sheriff and the rest of the day-staff would arrive after eight o'clock. Except for the night dispatcher and one duty officer, he was alone at the office. He didn't wait long for the picture to show up in his email. It was a Louisiana plate with numbers clearly visible. That made it easy. He just had to check the state DMV database.

If it was what he expected, the car was probably stolen. He logged into the police site and searched the plate number. It took only seconds to find the owner's information, which he started to write down when his mobile phone rang. He answered.

"Taylor, it's Sheriff Custis. What are you doing in the office this time of the morning?"

Why's he calling me now? How did he know? "Hi Gay, ah, I'm catching up ... gone all day yesterday and got some catchin' up to do."

"Well, look, Deputy, I'm on my way in, so don't start on anything until we get a chance to discuss priorities. No need to waste a lot o' time. I'll be there shortly."

"Okay, boss. I'll have the coffee done when you get here."

This was really strange. The Sheriff never called unless there was an emergency. And there was no emergency. Taylor quickly wrote down the rest of the information and logged off the computer. Instinctively, he took the paper out to his truck and put it under the seat. Something wasn't right. He didn't know what it was, but the Sheriff had never acted this strangely before, and, how did he know Taylor was in the office so early?

Gaylord Custic had been a prominent oil company attorney before running for the Sheriff's office. He'd been elected for five two-year terms and voters in the Parish were overwhelmingly supportive. If there was one thing "Gay" was good at, it was getting reelected. He knew how to command the spotlight when it benefitted him, and how to avoid controversy. His last opponent characterized him as the "Teflon Sheriff."

Taylor was one of Custic's favorite Deputies. When court papers were to be served, or there was a domestic disturbance to settle, Taylor was his first choice. Mike was reliable and could handle hostility. He'd never doubted the Sheriff's confidence in him. But, something was different now. It began when Amanda Bryant was murdered, and the Sheriff backed away from the case. There was nothing too unusual about a local murder; but it had surprised Taylor when his boss turned away from it.

A few minutes later, the Sheriff arrived in his shiny new Dodge Charger, complete with all the equipment and markings of his office. Taylor stood as Custis hurried through the glass doors. "Good morning, Gay."

"Hi, Mike. Let's meet in my office."

Taylor grabbed a note pad and followed the older man to his corner office.

"Close the door, Mike."

This was a rare request, and Taylor didn't know what to expect.

"Mike, I have a problem." Taylor just nodded. "Mike, I'm gonna level with you, we need to trust each other, right?"

"Sure, Sheriff, I hope so."

"Mike, I've been getting some weird phone calls. A while back, when the Bryant murder first happened, I had a visit from some pretty convincing fellows claiming to be federal agents. They wouldn't tell me the agency and used false names as near as I can tell. They told me that we weren't to get involved in the case, and the FBI would handle it. Naturally, I called the FBI in New Orleans, and they confirmed it.

"Since then, I've had a couple calls from the same lead agent, threatening to take legal action against my office for interference."

"What kind of interference, Sheriff?"

"That's just it, Mike, I don't know. They just said my office was meddling where it shouldn't be."

"Is it about the Bryant case?"

"Yeah, it's the only murder case anyone outside our Parish ever showed any interest in."

Taylor sat quietly.

"Anyway, Mike, I got a call this morning from the same guy, Mr. Smith. He told me – actually warned me – that you were snoopin' around again. He identified you and said you were in the office right then doing it."

"Boss, this is totally weird. All I did this morning was check a license plate for the park Service. Someone drove into Rockefeller last night, and the head ranger, Boyd Jassop, wanted help locating the car owner. That's it. It's just a trespassing problem as far as I know. You can understand why they're concerned after the Bryant murder. I was just doing that, not anything like an investigation."

"Look, Mike I don't see how anyone could question us on that. Sounds like you were just doing your job, but you gotta be careful."

"You know what bothers me, Boss? How did anyone know I was checking the license?"

"I don't know, Mike. Maybe there's alerts on the DMV site, I don't know."

"No. That's not it. The feds wouldn't care about some random search of a registration. We do it all the time ... every day."

"Okay, Mike. Look, for a while, let me know if anything else happens at the park. It's not that I don't trust you, but it's my job on the line, and I don't wanna blame you if the Feds come down on this office."

"Okay, Boss, I get it."

About the same time, Boyd Jassop was speaking to Washington. "I don't know, Stan. What's the urgent need for me to move, anyway? I want to stick around long enough to meet my replacement. We got some issues since my ranger was killed, and I want to be sure the new head is fully briefed ... No, I don't get it; what's so important that I leave now? ... Well, go ahead and send the papers, I may turn down the promotion and just stay in place ... What do you mean 'not an option'? A week ago, it was an offer that I was considering, why is it mandatory now? ... Seems like a funny way to promote someone."

The rest of the discussion went nowhere. Boyd was being told to pack his things and get moving before the end of the week.

At the Sheriff's office, Taylor was in a tough spot. His boss was open and honest with him, but he was also a stone wall for any more investigation related to Amanda's murder. Nicky Bryant wasn't going to let go, and Boyd Jassop still believed there was more to the case than reported by the FBI. Taylor was the only law officer helping them, and his hands were now tied – unless he violated the trust of his boss, which would kill his career. He sent a text message.

"Let's have breakfast. I'll pick you up." He didn't ask for an answer. There was no way to know how extensive the surveillance really was.

She was ready when he drove up minutes later. He got out and signaled for her to walk away from his truck.

She didn't speak until he stopped and looked at her. "What's going on, Mike? This all seems clandestine."

"Someone's watching communications, Nicky. I don't know what else, but for now on, we can't communicate anything about the case on the phone. I don't trust it inside our buildings or cars either." He'd been cautious driving to meet her, taking a circuitous route to be sure nobody followed. He looked in all directions when talking to her to see if anyone was watching. There was nobody in sight. "Call me paranoid, but we gotta be careful. This would be a good time to think about going back home with your father."

"I'm staying, Mike, that's final. Who's able to do all this? Is it Mafia?"

"Honestly, I don't have a clue ... but they know what they're doing and are able to manipulate the Government. We gotta be extra careful."

"I'm not leaving, so what do we do?"

"Look, I can't disappear from the office long without calling in. The Sheriff is nervous about me."

"What about the license plate, the one Boyd Jassop got?"

"I have it, I got the name and address, but I don't think it's much use with no police support."

"Did you give it to Boyd?"

"No. I'm sure his communications are compromised. He can't do anything anyway. He can only call the Sheriff to report the trespasser, and then I'd be in trouble for giving it to him."

"So, what do we do next?"

"I don't know, maybe try to talk to Boyd. Maybe he could get some help through Washington. I mean, it's almost laughable. It's just some trespasser, and I can't do a thing. My boss was threatened by feds and ordered me off the case."

"Okay, give me the stuff on the driver."

"No way! I told you before that this could be drug trafficking. If it is, and they have enough power to manipulate Washington, then you'd just be another fly to swat. I'm not going to help you get killed."

Her exasperation showed. "Mike, maybe you and me and Jassop should all meet and talk about this."

It made sense. "Yeah, why don't we all arrive at the same place for lunch?"

"Okay, I'll invite Boyd as a friend, saying I'm leaving. We can all meet at the Crab Shack, okay?"

"Great, I gotta get back to the office."

Taylor drove back to the office thinking about Nicky's safety. He didn't think she was in danger right now, but he was fearful anyway. Something was rotten. He didn't know what it was, nor did the Sheriff. They were being told what to do by unknown people. Amanda had been murdered and her murderer was also murdered. It all seemed to be something dangerous, and he didn't want Nicky in the middle of it. As he'd gotten to know her, she'd gotten under his skin. There was physical attraction between them, Taylor knew she felt it, too, but there was more, much more. Nicky was fiercely loyal to her sister, maybe to a deadly extreme. It was a quality to be admired. She was fearless and he admired that too, but it also made her vulnerable. People died through lack of caution, and she could be standing in the middle of a freeway at rush hour.

Taylor wanted to keep her safe, out of the firing line, but she wouldn't withdraw. He had to protect her, but she could be reckless, and he was restricted by his boss. If he had to choose, he would work with Nicky and fuck the rest! He wasn't sure how he felt entirely yet, but she'd become very important to him. Dammit, Nicky, go home!

Demand

The boat crashed through rough seas, going faster than was safe. Johnny Jagneaux was no seaman. He'd bought the go-fast boat less than a year earlier with no boat-handling experience. He was pounding through wave tops at nearly fifty miles-per-hour, hitting with enough force to damage the instruments. It scared him. He was always scared on the water. He was not a good swimmer and couldn't control the powerful boat well.

He didn't really have a choice. His business was only designed to work over the ocean using drones. With all his meager successes in the past, this drug business was his only real achievement. In less than a year, he'd become a multi-millionaire. He barely believed it himself, but it was true. But now it had become his own petard, a ticking bomb he carried next to his heart that could explode any moment. Damn this business! He couldn't escape. He was threatened at both ends. The Big Man told him outright that he'd cut off his balls and stuff them into his throat if the channel stopped for any reason other than Jagneaux's death. The crips gang leader, who met him for the first time two nights ago had said essentially the same thing, but he'd emphasized it with a knife blade inches from Jagneaux's eyes. Yeah, he was rich, but they all were. Everyone made money, and the channel now flowed from factory to the street with Jagneaux in the middle. No one was going to let him out. He pressed the throttles harder, even though both were already at the maximum.

Soon after leaving the marina, he'd called Carlos for his location. Using his GPS, he'd be at the boat, now ninety miles out in the Gulf, in less than two hours. His back ached from the pounding, and his face hurt from the spray and wind. His long black hair streamed straight back as he squinted to see ahead.

Carlos orbited the big trawler in a tight circle, waiting for his boss, his partner. He'd only been told to arrange a radio meeting with the Big Man when Jagneaux arrived. The Big Man didn't like being told what to do. He scheduled meetings, or, mostly, showed up unannounced. He didn't like the amateur drug distributor taking control. He told Carlos it "better be important."

The radio call began less than five minutes after Jagneaux reached the bigger boat. He talked to Carlos privately first, before making the call. "What do you really know about this guy?"

Carlos shrugged. "I know only that he has always delivered to us as we need."

"Yeah, but where's he from? He's not Columbian. He's got a funny accent and he never says anything about his country."

"I only asked around and he was the result. Why do you care? He gets the products for the price we want whenever we ask, nothing more, nothing less."

"He's dark skinned, like you. He's Latino, I guess. You talk to him in Spanish, right?"

"Yes, of course, he is almost perfect. I would identify him as Columbian if I did not already know it. Why do you care? You got some reason to worry about him?"

"No, it's just that I never met a South American with such good English. But if you say he's got perfect Spanish, I guess that's enough."

"So, why are you asking?"

"It's not important, make the call."

The Big Man was ready when called. "What do you want, friend, I don't like talking on the radio."

"Don't worry about it. I got something you need to hear quick, and it's serious."

"Tell me."

"Two nights ago, my 'other friend,' the boss, gran jefe, he talked to me." Actually, he had threatened him.

He continued. "He wants two-hundred kilo's starting next month. We got thirty days ... twenty-nine as of today."

"Two Hundred!"

"That's right Big Man, two hundred. Can you get it?"

"Maybe, but how you gonna pay for it?"

"Well, I ain't got that much cash, and banks aren't an option. You gotta work with the supplier and give me a couple days to pay."

"You mean credit? That isn't the way it works, you know that."

"Well, that's the deal. We done a lotta business this year, and it's all been good. Now, we got a big one and you gotta make it work."

"You don't dictate terms to me!"

"Look man, I got the biggest score you ever had with my buyer who can pay with clean cool cash. Are you in or out?" Jagneaux really didn't have a choice; there was only one outcome that would keep him alive. He'd be fabulously wealthy, or dead ... maybe his estranged family, too. The risk-reward paradox was suddenly very real to him.

"I will let you know."

"Make it soon, I need to know fast ... out."

He looked at the captain. "This guy has to come through, Carlos."

"I understand, Johnny. But I just never heard of a drug deal using credit."

Lunch

Nicky was waiting with a table when Taylor arrived. "Hey, girl, I thought I was early." He smiled and sat across the small table. "Boyd coming?"

She smiled then went serious. "I couldn't find him. I drove to the park, and there was a sign, and a couple Rangers were telling folks that it was closed for repairs. I acted upset and wanted to speak to who was in charge and this guy in a suit came out of the office. I expected to see Boyd. When I commented that I came there all the time to watch birds, and knew the head ranger, this stranger said he'd been reassigned. I asked about when it would open, and he said it would just be a day or so."

Taylor asked, "This guy ... did he have a name or some kind of ID?"

"No, I should have asked, but I kinda felt like I was over the top and didn't want to attract even more attention. Some people might see my resemblance to Amanda, so I thought it was best just to go away quickly. What's going on, Mike?"

"I don't know any more than you, Nicky. The Sheriff told me to stay away, so I don't have any clue."

That morning, after sending the car license picture to Taylor, Boyd Jassop was told by his boss to leave for California immediately. Within an hour, Mr. Smith and his two cronies arrived at the park office to remove Boyd, by force if necessary. One of the men followed Boyd to his rental house to pack. The second man instructed one of the rangers on duty to locate all the animal cameras and bring them to the office for evaluation and upgrade. Once they were delivered, the box was taken to the stranger's SUV. Shortly after Nicky had looked for Boyd, the park was re-opened, no longer with surveillance cameras.

Boyd wasn't left alone as he packed. In addition to Mr. Smith's colleague, the Forest Service had contracted for some "helpers" from a moving company who were already waiting at his house with boxes and a small truck that would transport everything to storage near his new California park. He'd never known anything in the Government to be so well-timed or thoroughly planned. He didn't have a minute alone.

Nicky and Taylor ordered lunch. "I've never seen anything like it, Nicky. It's like every obstacle possible has fallen in front of us."

"You still want me to leave, don't you, Mike?" It was rhetorical.

"Yes and no. Yes for your safety; but no ... well, I don't have a good reason that I can say, I just like having you here."

She blushed. "Well you finally said it, sort of. You like me, don't you? Admit it, I can tell."

He was surprised. "You really know how to put a guy on the spot, don't you? You're presuming a lot about me. You know, down here, we expect the man to make the advances. Is it that different with you Yanks?"

"Maybe. I don't know about other people. I just call it like it is. Admit it, you like me."

He sat back, looking at her. "All right, you got me. But, even if I do find you mildly attractive and good to be around, what's that got to do with anything?"

"Um, maybe everything."

"So, since you're so presumptuous – how's that for a fifty-dollar word from a Texas farm boy – how do you feel about me?"

She looked at him, tilted her head, then answered, "Well, I came back down here, didn't I? What does that tell you?"

"Hell, girl, you ever give a straight answer? You could get me to spill my guts and I gotta keep puttin' you together like a puzzle."

"It's all part of the mystery, Southern boy. We Northern girls got our ways."

While they enjoyed lunch and sparring across the table, Boyd finished moving out. His new suited friend never talked to him except to give instructions. When done, the suit handed Boyd a travel voucher to drive to a federal building address in Bakersfield, California. "Someone from your new park will meet you after you get there." With that, the man left.

Boyd didn't like being pushed around. Before leaving, he called Taylor and explained what happened.

Taylor was back in the office when they talked, but the Sheriff was out. The story all fit with what Nicky had seen. He was nearing the end of his shift, then Nicky called.

"Mike, there's a car parked a little ways down the street. It's a dark sedan with dark windows, I can't see inside but it's not like any other cars I've seen around here."

He was doubly alert after Jassop's call. "Anyone in it, Nicky?"

"It's too dark to see through the window, Mike. Should I be scared?" He could tell she was already scared.
"Don't be, but keep everything locked and don't answer the door. I'm coming."

Taylor was always armed on duty, but he checked his gun's magazine for reassurance, then grabbed his hat. It was close to his quitting time, but he took one of the patrol cars. He floored it and turned on lights, without siren, speeding well above the posted limits. About a block away, he turned off the lights and resumed a normal patrol speed. Rounding the nearest corner, the black Chevy Impala was just a couple doors from the law office in front of Nicky's/Amanda's apartment.

He stopped immediately behind the car and radio'ed the license information to the dispatcher. He didn't wait for a response. He could see two silhouettes in the front seat. The back seat appeared to be empty. It looked like a standard Government-issue car, except for the blackened windows and ordinary license plate. He exited the patrol car, put on his hat and approached cautiously. Darkened windows are especially hazardous to police during stops because their is no way to know who is inside or how dangerous they might be.

He knocked on the driver's window, which opened after a moment's delay. "Driver's license and proof of insurance, please, sir."

The stocky black man in the driver's seat wore a well-fitting suit. It looked expensive. "What's the problem, Officer?"

"Let me see your ID, sir. You're in a no parking zone."

The man didn't produce any identification. "There's nothing marked here. The curb is white and there's no sign."

Taylor answered. "Damn, those kids again, they just keep stealing the signs. This is a restricted parking area, you know, for fire trucks and emergency vehicles only."

"You must be kidding me. Where're people supposed to park along here for these shops or professional offices?"

"You got me; now let's see your license."

The man, perturbed, reached into his coat and pulled a badge holder for identification. Taylor said, "What's that?"

The other man, dressed similarly had grown impatient with the Deputy. "Hey, man, we're federal officers, so shove off!"

Taylor bent down to look both men in the eye. "Would you men please step out of the car?"

The second man responded. "This is bullshit. Look, huckleberry, get your ass outta here, you're interfering with federal officers in performance of their duties."

"And what duties are those?"

The driver motioned his partner to cool it. "That's not something we can discuss, officer. So, if you'll kindly step away and leave, we'll just forget about calling the Sheriff."

Taylor smiled. "Maybe you don't understand, sir. This is local jurisdiction and unless you've notified us that you're operating here, you don't have any jurisdiction. Now, either get out of here, or I'm haulin' both of you to jail for refusing to obey a lawful parking restriction."

The second man was infuriated. "Look, Gomer, we ain't goin' anywhere, so you just fuck off."

Taylor stepped back from the car and used his shoulder microphone "Dispatch, officer needs assistance, street ..." Before he finished, the driver sped away. Taylor had not pressed the talk button on the mike.

After the car was far away and turned toward the highway, Taylor looked toward the apartment and waved.

He knew the Sheriff well enough that he wouldn't get upset with him for following procedures. It was a simple parking violation, and the Deputy was performing appropriately. Well, almost ... the sign wasn't missing; it didn't exist on this street.

On the way back to the office, Taylor called Nicky using his cell. "Hey, they've gone for now, but keep an eye out for them."

"Thanks, Taylor. I owe you. That car scared me."

"That's the idea, Nicky. They want you scared. They want you gone. I don't think they'd hurt you – they weren't exactly ninjas. Someone's trying to put a lid on Amanda's murder. I'll tell you about Boyd later when I pick you up after work in an hour."

"Boyd? Pick me up? What makes you think I wanna be picked up?

"Well, how else am I gonna protect you? Gotta keep you in sight all the time. Consider me your personal body guard, kinda like Lady Gaga."

"I told you that you liked me ..."

Federals

Taylor returned to the office. His shift had ended, and he was heading toward his locker to change into civilian clothes. He stopped when he heard the Sheriff raise his voice on the phone.

Gay said, " ... I'm also upset that you're upset. But let me make something clear. This here's our Parish. I don't give a big shit if you wanna work a case in my territory. You need to work it through the proper channels, or we're gonna treat you like any other citizen. You jaywalk, you pay the fines." The phone slammed down.

Taylor smiled. The Sheriff was showing his teeth. He could be a man of contradictions. Most of the time, he was a politician, avoiding conflicts with other authorities; but sometimes, he could be downright parochial. Somebody had pushed the wrong button. Taylor diverted, briefly. "Hey boss; getting a little testy with our brothers in Washington?"

"Taylor, why is it that you always bring so much attention to my office?" The Sheriff smiled, he liked a good fight with bureaucrats.

"I guess it's just my charm."

"So, what's really going on, Mike?"

"I'll write my log report tomorrow, Sheriff. Got a call about a suspicious car parked in a neighborhood, so I went to check ... couple of guys, suits, in a dark sedan, looked like Government issue, doing nothing. Looked like a stakeout. I asked for identification and got the run around. Something about federal agents, but they wouldn't explain that. I asked them to leave and they did ... end of report."

"Yeah, well, it upset someone back east ... can't really say who, though ... don't know. That guy on the phone was a "Deputy Director" of something. He didn't identify it, trying to order us around. You heard the rest, I gather. Keep up the good work, Deputy. I may hear from the Governor on this, or maybe not, but it doesn't make a rat's ass to me. Just do the job correctly, and I got your back."

"Thanks, Boss. I'm off now."

It made him smile. He'd probably be in trouble with the Sheriff soon enough, but for tonight, he was good. Sooner or later, Taylor would betray the trust. Nicole Bryant would cause it -- he knew it. It was inevitable. In a way, he wished she'd go home, and he could stop thinking about her sister's murder and get back to normal police business, the lazy south coast way. The thought passed. Even if Nicky wasn't stirring up hornets, he felt a moral obligation to find the truth. It pissed him off that the "system" could be manipulated so someone could get murdered without real justice. He couldn't be certain of the injustice, there was no proof of it, but he was beginning to share Nicky's disbelief that the killer was found. Too many suspicious things were coinciding. Nicky was also getting inside his head. She was always on his mind.

Cameron had a normal rhythm of illegal activities. Occasionally, odd things happened, for sure, but they were singular events, this was different. There were multiple suspicious signals following Amanda's murder. Maybe Taylor's feelings toward Nicky Bryant were clouding his judgement; she was right, of course, he was attracted to her, but the case was getting more deeply embedded in his mind with each odd event. He felt that he had known Amanda, she and Nicky were almost the same person. She deserved justice, which might not have happened yet. He wasn't as convinced as Nicky, but getting more so each day. He changed clothes and drove his Jeep to her apartment.

She saw him arrive. She'd been watching out the front window since the dark car left and hurried down the stairs as he was starting to come up. She gave him a long hug. "Thanks, Mike. I don't know why that car scared me so much, but I can't stop thinking about it. You were great! You're my hero."

He smiled as they walked toward the Jeep. "I let 'em know they weren't welcome here, but keep an eye out anyway. Are you gonna stay in the apartment for now?"

She took his hand as they walked. "I had daddy leave the bed and a couple chairs, nothing we want back home. The rent and deposits are good through next month, so I could stay there and it doesn't cost me anything."

"What about your business back in Maine?"

"I may lose part of it, but it'll come back. I'm not leaving until I know that Amanda's murderer is locked up. Mom will send me expense money from Amanda's insurance. That car today proves I'm right. "

"Maybe."

"What's 'maybe' about it? The guys in that car were watching me, maybe planning to hurt me too. That proves it."

"You might be right, Nicky, but, at this point, they were just parked on the street, not exactly a capital offence."

"You know I'm right. Thanks for protecting me." She hugged his shoulder.

"We got a couple hours of daylight left. Let's go have some fun."

"Okay, what?"

He opened the door for her, "It's a surprise."

Ten minutes later, they were at the regional police shooting range. "Here we are."

"A shooting range? This is what you mean as fun?"

He smiled and reached across to unlock the glove box. Inside was a small handgun case and a box of ammunition. "You'll see. Wait 'til your first bullseye. It'll feel special."

"I don't like guns, Mike."

"Neither do I, Nicky, but I can't be around all the time, and this'll make you safer."

"I couldn't shoot anyone!"

"Believe me, you could. If you know your life is threatened, you'll shoot. I just want you to be ready. Come on."

The range was quiet with no one else there. "Mike, this scares me. I don't like it at all."

"Look, Nicky, what do you think you're doing down here in Cameron anyway? I said you should go home. You didn't. You want to find Amanda's killer, and so do I, but it could be dangerous. We need to balance the odds a little. I don't expect you to run around flailing a gun everywhere, but at home, alone, it'll give you a little margin of safety ... not much, but a little. I want you to call me any time you're scared, but knowing how to use this could buy some time."

Taylor had owned the small handgun for a couple of years as a backup weapon, something that could be carried in an ankle holster. He'd never used it, but it would fit Nicky's hand perfectly. The 9mm ammunition would disable a man, but not recoil too much for her.

They spent an hour, shooting a couple dozen rounds. Mike was a good instructor, covering all the safety aspects and proper marksmanship techniques. Nicky became comfortable after firing the second six-shot magazine. She could hit the target easily at twenty feet or less.

She fired the last round. "Hey, this is fun. I'm getting pretty good ... what you think?"

He smiled and took the gun carefully from her hand. "Yeah, you could be a regular Rambo."

"Thanks for this, Mike. I still don't like it, but you're right, it'll make me feel safer."

He smiled while refilling the magazine and closing the gun case. "Now, how about we bar-b-que steaks at my place?"

"Gee, already taking me home to meet momma?"

"Not quite. I wouldn't want to punish you that way. My folks aren't people like you usually meet. Not exactly banjo strummers, but pure redneck farmers."

She grinned, that impish grin he'd seen before. "It's still a start!"

A few hours later, after sunset, the men in the sedan returned, stopping briefly in front of the driveway to her apartment. The passenger held a hand radio, "It's dark here, Chief, she's still not home."

The return voice said, "She's probably still out with that Deputy. Try not to let him see you there again. Keep watching 'till we know she's back."

Taylor lived in a beautiful apartment in South Lake Charles. Nicky was impressed. "Wow, Taylor, this is nice. Look at the water and this whole gorgeous area!"

"It's home, for now. Come on in." He had a large two-bedroom unit on the first floor, next to a big swimming pool with lap lanes. They'd stopped at a supermarket for steaks and salad. She'd selected the salad ingredients. He didn't keep food, stopping most nights for something prepared or simple to make. Steaks were easy to cook on his grill outside the sliding glass doors, under the balcony from the apartment above.

"I like the ground floor. Most folks like the second because it's quieter, but this suits me fine. I like to swim in the morning and this place is perfect, just jump right in from my place."

"You really have it good here. Can we sit by the pool for a while?"

"Sure, let me get some wine: red or white?"

"You were prepared! Red sounds good tonight."

While he opened the bottle, Nicky walked out to the pool. She wasn't sure how she felt about Taylor. It was easy to flirt with him, but he was also a cop who was helping her. She didn't really know what to expect from him or what she wanted. Tonight felt like a date, but they'd just come from a gun range ... nothing romantic about it. He had a son, and she had a special needs daughter. They came from different backgrounds, and neither fit into the other's culture. Sitting by the pool for those few moments alone gave her pause to think.

"Here you go." He handed her the glass of Pinot Noir. "They tell me it's supposed to breath before we drink it, but I can't really tell the difference."

"Thanks, Mike." She sat quietly, reflecting on her thoughts.

"You like it?"

"Yes, it's great here, good wine and good company."

"I guess we don't need to talk a whole lot tonight."

She smiled. "I was just thinking about things."

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know. Like, why am I here? A few weeks ago, I didn't even know how to spell Louisiana. I didn't know you. I had a sister. I was tired every night after fiddling with other people's hair, I played with my daughter at night, my mother fixed dinner ... this is so different."

"You don't like it?"

"No, it's not that. Am I crazy, Mike? Should I just stop all this, pack my bag and get back up North where I belong?"

"Nicky, I'm the worst guy to give any advice. All I know is that you're here – and, I'm glad you are."

"Gee, Taylor, I thought you wanted me gone."

"You know what I mean. I mean, if you were my girl, hypothetically speaking, I'd never want you to leave. But you're here for another reason."

"Let's enjoy the wine, you're a good date." What am I doing here? I belong in Maine!

He chuckled. "Here we are, a couple of twenty-odd-year-olds sipping wine together but from different sides of the Mason-Dixon. About all we have in common is the same language, though even that's with different accents, and a crime that may not be solved. If we didn't have that between us, Nicky, would you even be talking to me?"

She glanced askance at him, "Well ... maybe."

"Okay, tell me about your daughter."

"I will if you tell me about your son."

"Fair enough, kinda I'll-show-mine if you-show-me-yours..."

"Exactly."

Nicky knew everything about Millie, every mood, her sleep habits, her food preference, her personality. She knew everything and enjoyed sharing it.

Taylor was different. "I just met Mike, Jr. I've missed a lot. He's almost eleven and I just met him. I can't really consider myself his father, I haven't earned it."

"Do you want to?"

"I think so, but I don't know how to begin. To him, I'm an intruder, threatening to upset his world and wreck his relationship with his mother."

"It'll take work. Why did you wait so long to meet him? He's not that far away."

"That's a hard thing to answer. I really don't have an explanation. Ever since I found out about him, I only thought about his mother, I didn't even think about him like a son. I didn't know what that meant, being a father. When I did meet him, it's like he became real to me for the first time. Now, I can't stop thinking about him, I'd like to make up for all the lost time."

"So, what about his mother? How do you feel about her?"

"That's a lot harder to define." For the next few minutes, Taylor told her about growing up on the family farm and the neighbor's daughter who had been his best friend.

"Those memories last a lifetime."

"That's what I'm finding out."

Dinner was great, although it was getting late once they finished cleaning up together. Taylor took her back to the apartment, careful to cruise up the street, checking for anything suspicious. He pulled into the lot, stopping just below her steps. Before she could say anything, he was walking with her to her door. She carried the gun case.

"You really don't need to escort me, Taylor." But before he could speak, she continued, "I know, it's the southern way."

He grinned. "You want me to check inside?"

"No, It's not that easy to get in there with a ladder ... it would attract a lot of attention. The door's got two locks. I'll be fine."

"Okay, Nicky, ah, thanks for the evening, I'll call in the morning." He started to turn back down the stairs.

"Wait." She kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks for caring, Mike. And thanks for talking about your son. I can tell that you love him, even if you don't know him yet."

He smiled and left.

Headline

The weekend news began with a breaking story about a woman found murdered in her trailer home, the sister of another murder victim.

Taylor's phone rang as he was finishing his morning swim. "Mike, did you hear?"

Nicky sounded distressed. "Gracie DeBlanc was murdered at her home. We questioned her about her brother."

"Yeah, I remember, unfriendly lady with a shotgun." He wanted to make light of it, but it was another coincidence.

"Look, Mike, something needs to be done. This is connected to Amanda, I know it."

"It sure could be, Nicky. Did the news have any more details?"

"No, I wonder if you could get any facts through your office?"

"Probably not. It's out of our area and the police don't share most details while they investigate unless we have something to tell them. Look, I'm coming over there. We need to think about protecting you better. If whoever's killing the DeBlancs knows about you, you could be a target."

"I'm a little scared now, Mike. When will you be here?"

"Fifteen to twenty. I'm leaving now." He dried quickly and threw on some clothes.

She sat at the table, staring at the gun case. It stayed closed but she was tempted to take it out. Taylor would be there soon.

He was there in twelve minutes, but it seemed like hours to her. He bounded up the stairs, two or three at a time and she embraced him, trembling after unlocking the doors.

"Look, Nicky, I called the duty officer. Miss DeBlanc died several days ago. This didn't just happen. The police just discovered her body, so whatever the danger is, it's been around a while, and you're still okay."

"Okay, Mike, maybe I'm paranoid. It's just that we met her. We talked to her, and it sounds like she must have died right after that. It's creepy. Could it be because we went to see her?"

"I don't think so, Nicky." He had no way to know, truthfully. "I imagine it had more to do with whoever killed her brother. Someone wanted to shut her up about her brother. But that's why we saw her. Someone might think she knew something, just like we did."

"Yeah, well, she didn't say anything to us if she did."

"Maybe it would have been better if she'd been talking to us and the police, then there wouldn't have been a reason to shut her up."

"I hope she didn't tell about us. Do you think those men parking outside could be the killers?"

"Honestly, I don't think so. They weren't very stealthy, dressed in suits and driving a Government car. They looked like Feds ... might not be, but sure looked like 'em. Come on, I'll take you to breakfast, and we can talk about it. I'm starving."

She smiled. He was trying to put her at ease, wondering if he was really being sincere, or was he scared, too? "Okay, but I'm paying, you've been babysitting so much that I owe you."

He smiled back, temped to say something about the "southern way," but decided to wait until the bill actually came. He had to admit, he liked being around her.

They agreed on a chain restaurant that catered to families, but the morning service was mostly oil men and farmers. Part way through, Taylor suggested, "You know, Nicky, if you really want to stay down here for a while, maybe you should move into my place. I mean, I've got an extra bedroom, and you could have the second bathroom all to yourself."

She smiled. "Are you really serious?"

"Well, yeah, anyway, it would save me gas driving over here every time to keep an eye on things."

At this point, she was scared enough to accept it. "Are you sure you want me around that much?"

"Huh ... I figure at some point you'll get your senses back and move back up north. It's kind of a temporary arrangement until you get tired of looking for answers or tired of being around me."

"Well, okay then. I'll move in temporarily so long as I still have Amanda's apartment, and you can kick me out any time. The rent goes through next month. And, I'm keeping the gun for now, in case you get frisky."

Both smiled. It would only be for a short time before Nicky would be going home, so even if they got on each other's nerves, it wouldn't last long.

Reconsidered

Later that night, Taylor's phone range, showing a number he didn't recognize. "Hello."

"Taylor, it's Boyd Jassop. I need to talk to you."

"Hi, Boyd, sure, how's the move going?"

"That's kinda why I'm calling you, Mike. This whole thing is getting on my nerves. My transfer came quick, and I didn't get much time to think about it. Now, I gotta talk to someone, and you're the best I can think of."

Nicky was sitting outside by the pool, near Taylor's patio. He was inside, where she couldn't hear. "Okay, Boyd, what's this all about?"

"Can I come over?" He thought someone could be listening.

"Yeah, sure." He provided the address.

"Good, I'll be there in half an hour."

Jassop had been instructed to leave his post immediately by headquarters, but stayed in the area for another day. He planned to start driving early in the morning.

Nicky came inside, preparing to shower, not knowing Jassop was coming over. A few minutes later, Taylor sat with Boyd in the living room, offering him a beer. She heard their voices and came into the room dressed in a light robe. "Boyd, hey, I thought you'd moved out to California already to be with your girls?

He looked at Taylor and then back at her. "Ah, hi, Nicole, this is a surprise."

"Yeah, well, to me too. Mike invited me to stay here for a while." She turned, leaving, "Okay, guys, I'm off to the shower."

Boyd gave a suspicious look at Taylor, who responded, "It's not what you think, Jassop, she just needed a place to stay, and I have an unused room -- nothing more than that."

"Hey, it's none of my business -- although she's a mighty nice looking addition to your bachelor pad."

Taylor just smiled. "So, what do we need to discuss?"

Boyd became serious. "Look, Taylor, I don't know who to talk to, but you're about the only person I know that would give a damn and that I trust."

Taylor listened but didn't speak.

Boyd continued. "See, I got that license number that I gave to you. Right after that, I got a call from my commander, ordering me to get out to a new job in California. It was way out of normal protocol, just pack up and leave. It's a promotion and gets me closer to my girls, so I can't complain. It's just the way it was handled.

"Then some guys show up and start taking charge. They showed me some badges a couple days earlier, but no explanation about who they're with. Anyway, they were there in less than an hour after I got the call to leave."

Taylor nodded, "Let me guess, guys claiming to be Feds in suits in dark cars."

"Yeah, you seen 'em?"

"Yeah, we had a short discussion about parking regulations."

Boyd smiled, imagining Taylor convincing some feds to move.

He continued. "When I was leaving, I heard one of them tell my ranger to show him around to all the wildlife cameras. You see where I'm going with this, Taylor? These guys removed the cameras. I called my guy before I called you, and he confirmed it."

"So, they removed the night surveillance from the park?" Taylor didn't need an answer.

"What's that all about?" Nicky had been listening.

Taylor answered her, looking at Jassop for confirmation. "Sounds like someone's planning to use the park at night and doesn't want anyone watching."

Jassop nodded. "That's what I think."

She responded, "So there's drug dealing going on in the park at night?"

Taylor nodded. "Could be, although why keep coming here? There's too much risk of getting caught. Why go back to the same spot?"

Jassop said, "It's not exactly the same spot. It's a little easier to get away. But it's still only one vehicle, just like the night Amanda was lost. It's gotta be something else."

"Poaching doesn't make sense; it doesn't pay enough for all the covert stuff. It sure as hell isn't why you got 'relocated'."

Nicky persisted, "So drugs make the most sense, but why the same park?"

Jassop speculated. "Well, if you look at the map, the park is the closest to the south Louisiana coast, that's gotta be the connection. Something's going on that needs that location."

Taylor said, "There's no dock for a boat. The shoreline is almost a mile away from the park road, across mostly swamp."

It didn't make sense to any of them but it seemed to be happening every few days from what Jassop had observed. He stood to leave. "Okay, Taylor, you got everything I know. I'm on my way to California in the morning, so it's your problem now." He looked at Nicky. "Miss Bryant, I only wish I could stay to find out why Amanda was really killed. She was special to me and the Forest Service."

Jassop left and Nicky showered. Taylor grilled a pizza; one of his favorites. Both tried to understand what was happening at the park. Jassop hadn't brought his complaints through his own agency; he brought it to the local Sheriff. Actually, he hadn't brought it to the Sheriff officially; he brought it to a Deputy, as a friend, leaving it to Taylor to carry it up the chain, or not.

Nicky dressed in shorts and a light shirt with her hair wrapped in a towel after showering. They ate at his small patio table after sunset. There was exterior lighting from the apartments surrounding the pool and the pool light was on. It wasn't exactly daylight, but it was enough light to see their plates.

"So, Mike, what's going on?"

"I wish I knew, Nicky. We got a license and a name and some suspicious activity at the coast, but it isn't enough to do much. If Jassop was still at the park, he could ask for assistance talking to the guy, the person in that SUV. But, he got pulled out as quickly as he got the guy's address. Lots of things bother me. One, someone's got our communications tapped; two, someone connected in Washington is pulling strings to get people out of the way; three, night cameras were removed from the park. To me this all sounds like some pretty corrupt doin's at high levels, which also sounds like big money involved."

"So, do you take it to the Sheriff?"

"I'll think about it. But all we can do is assist the park Rangers. It's federal property. If the park doesn't file a complaint, then nothing happens. We don't have jurisdiction on their land unless they ask for backup."

"Yeah, and from what's happening, that could be a mistake."

"Let's think about it. I've got to work tomorrow, early, until two o'clock. You stay here and try not to talk to anyone. You should be safe inside."

Too many scenarios were running around in his mind. She stayed up later that night, then went to bed worried that they were getting into something big and dangerous. Bigger than she'd ever expected coming down here. She wasn't leaving, but they needed to be cautious.

Taylor was at the Sheriff's office early the next morning. Actually he was out, serving some court documents, when she got up. Her phone rang. Taylor said, "Hey, I'm gonna be a little later this afternoon, so I'll see you there." He was careful not to mention where she was staying, just in case someone was listening.

At two o'clock, his shift was over, and he left as quickly as he could change clothes. He wasn't heading home. In fact, he went the opposite direction, checking to see if anyone followed. Nobody did as far as he could tell. An hour later, he was at a special warehouse that contained tactical gear and surveillance equipment for police all across South Louisiana, courtesy of federal grants to the state -- things none of the parishes could afford on their own,.

After an hour, he had seismic sensors, night vision cameras, portable transmitters, and receivers under cover in his truck. It was all military-grade equipment that could be used for long-term remote surveillance.

Three hours after leaving the Sheriff's office, he was carrying green boxes of equipment into his apartment.

Nicky helped. "What's all this stuff?"

"I checked it out for the Cameron Sheriff's office. We're gonna set a trap for our friend in the Cadillac SUV."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, we're going to the park tonight to set this all up. The guy at our warehouse showed me how it all works. We just got to set some trip-lines, buried wires in the gravel, across the entrances that'll tell us when a vehicle comes into the park. The cameras provide bursts of video when something moves, showing what it is, then radios it all back here." He patted the receiver. "The receiver sends the alert to my computer along with the video burst. Next time the SUV or any other vehicle goes into the park at night, we'll see it."

"Boyd Jassop said the new guys in charge of the park don't want any cameras."

"We won't tell 'em. We won't even tell the Sheriff. I had to forge his signature on the requisition."

"Mike, listen to me, you need to return this and get that requisition back. I don't know how many laws you just broke, but we can't do this illegally. We got the guy's name and address. Let's go talk to him."

"And say what, Nicky? You think he's gonna talk to you or me. I can't talk to him officially and it would only cause trouble if he complained. You ... he'd just kick you off his property and probably call the police. Then we'd both be in trouble."

"Mike, this is going too far, I don't want any more trouble. Maybe Amanda's murder will get solved some other way. When I came down here, I didn't know anyone. I didn't know you. Then you were just a badge, and badges catch bad people. But now, well, I don't want you to lose your job or maybe get hurt. I couldn't live with that."

He pulled her to him gently. "You know, Nicky, the more I've been around this case the more it stinks. Not only that, the more I've been around you, the more I feel like Amanda was my friend too. She deserves justice. I don't think that dead rummy killed her, just like you don't think so."

"So, let the police solve it." She wasn't convincing to herself or to him.

"Yeah, right. I am the police, remember. Who else is working on it? There's no other way."

The mood went strangely quiet. Nicky had been serious about finding her sister's killer, coming down to Louisiana. She'd never really considered that people, including her, could get hurt doing it. She felt something special about Mike Taylor. He'd been the jerk Deputy at their first meeting at the park office. But he wasn't a jerk down deep. She'd seen it. He was attracted to her, she was certain, but that didn't motivate this kind of risk taking. He'd been skirting the law for several days, but now he'd gone farther. He wasn't trying to impress her anymore; he'd already accomplished that much. Now, he wanted answers that were buried in bureaucratic obstructions. He was just a parish Deputy Sheriff, taking on ... who knows what? Somebody out there is a killer, maybe several of them.

"Mike, this is getting too dangerous. Please, let's just stop now. Take the equipment back, and I'll go home ... if you still want me to go home."

She put her arms around him, and he stood, mystified. Nicky had only ever been interested in one thing, finding Amanda's killer. Had something changed? He relaxed under her embrace and instinctively brushed her hair. She looked up, and they kissed.

It was a lingering relaxed kiss, not the little peck she'd given him for favors before. This was more. He realized he'd wanted her from the first time he saw her, but this was different. He cared for her now, her as a person, not just another pretty girl. He'd gotten to know her as a friend. Had she just made an advance on him? He wasn't really sure how to respond. He just kissed her back and savored the moment.

Trap

They left his apartment after nightfall. Nicky was driving the pickup for the first time, feeling very uncomfortable. She wasn't accustomed to sitting high above the road with a vehicle that never felt entirely under her control. It was debatable about the best time to be at the park, but Taylor didn't want to be around the perimeter in daylight, nor too late. If they waited until midnight, they'd be too obvious on the highway, attracting attention. Also, they didn't want to be at the park if someone else entered late at night. They wanted to be back at his apartment when the next intrusion occurred.

There were two primary ways to enter the park road. Taylor had equipment for both entrances. As they approached one, he said. "Okay, pull onto the shoulder and give me a few seconds to get the stuff from the back." She did so, and he knocked on the back when ready. She pulled away slowly, continuing down the highway to a parking area a couple miles away. They had agreed that she would turn around and pass by every few minutes, maintaining safe speed until he told her to pull over at the same spot again.

Taylor hurried in darkness down the narrow oyster shell road. He'd dressed in Army jungle fatigues that he'd been issued but never worn during his deployment to Afghanistan. They still fit perfectly. He stopped about a hundred feet into the park and set up the sensor in swamp brush, then dug a shallow cut with a trowel across the gravel to bury the wire. It took several attempts in the darkness to connect the wires from the transmitter to the sensor and then to energize both battery boxes. It was all hidden in tall grass.

The camera was more difficult. It needed to be disguised, but still able to see a vehicle. It took a little manipulating to set the angles right and hide the small unit. The camera would only work when the sensor felt pressure from a passing vehicle. The warehouse technician said the batteries would last about one to two weeks, depending on the amount of video, then need recharging. Taylor had carefully counted one hundred paces from the highway to be sure he could find the equipment again at night. Wiring everything together proved to be the most difficult part, even though he'd practiced in his apartment several times. Now, he was doing it mostly by feel, hoping that there were no vipers or gators lurking in the swamp grass.

He didn't have any way to test from his iPhone. It was theoretically possible, but he'd only been able to absorb so much instruction from the tech. Remote operation, away from his laptop, wasn't something he'd been able to master. He jogged close to the park entrance and called Nicky. In less than a minute, he was back in the truck. She was shaking. "How did it go? You get it all done okay?"

"Yeah, I think so. I just hope nobody finds it. I did my best, but it's tough in the dark. Anyway, let's get to the other end."

The second installation went better, although, again, Taylor had no way to test it or to make sure it was invisible.

Later, back at his apartment, he used the receiver and was able to confirm that both transmitters were working. He set an audible signal in case a sensor was triggered. He manually controlled the cameras to confirm they were working, and everything was connected properly. The video wasn't set at the best angles and had some grass obstructing the picture, but it was okay.

He asked, "Well, now we just wait, want a glass of wine?"

"Yes, white this time." She wasn't sure about any of this. They were using state equipment without authorization, trespassing on federal property, and uncertain what was going to happen if a sensor was crossed. "I'd like a big glass."

He understood how she felt, but he was less concerned about the violations than what to do when the sensor was tripped. Who would it be, and what would they be doing? How dangerous are they and how well armed? The wine and closeness together on the couch helped to calm their nerves.

It was late, and Mike suggested, "Why don't you go to bed, and I'll stay up a little longer."

She protested. "Why don't I stay up and let you sleep. You gotta work tomorrow, and I can sleep during the day."

"I appreciate the offer, but I got the alarm set loud, and it'll wake me if something happens. I'm a light sleeper and any unusual sounds in my apartment always wake me up."

They cuddled and kissed until the wine bottle was empty, then Nicky left for bed in her room. Taylor went to his bed a few minutes later.

That night, around midnight, the alarm sounded. Both of them responded.

She said, "What is it ... is it them?"

Taylor queried the video and saw the vague image of a dark Mustang pass by. He looked at the wall clock. "Twelve-thirty, I think it's just kids making out."

They went back to bed with no more alarms that night.

The next day was boring for her. She still had the urge to confront the owner of the SUV, she had his name and address, but there wasn't any way to approach it without compromising Taylor. She spent the day cleaning the apartment, although he had a cleaning service and was tidy himself. She read a book on her tablet on his porch in the warm shade. In the afternoon, she left the apartment and went grocery shopping. She first looked carefully around the parking areas for anything suspicious. Nobody was seen. Taylor had been the perfect considerate host, but his kitchen was meagerly supplied.

That evening, she surprised him with something he'd never eaten, wild salmon sautéed with dill and lemon butter, stir-fried cauliflower and vegetables with cream sauce, including parmesan and garlic. She also had a nice white wine. He was impressed. "Whoa ... and she cooks too! That smells terrific."

"I did a little shopping today. Your vegetable bin is now being used for vegetables and your auxiliary beer supply is in the cupboard. I didn't get too much – don't want you to think I've moved in permanently, but figure I need to earn my keep one way or the other."

Taylor's idea of fish had only been fried with fries. They had a quiet dinner together trying to find something to talk about other than murderers and drug dealers. After finishing cleanup and a last glass of wine, it had cooled enough to sit by the pool and enjoy the sunset.

He said. "So, that was a terrific dinner. You got any more in your cookbook?"

"Thanks. Yeah, I've got some other ideas. Up north, we don't fry or boil everything. My mom is a really good cook, and we always had fresh everything; nothing prepared or frozen."

"Ouch, now you're treading on my specialties. I guess living alone like I do here, I don't make much of a fuss about eating. I eat out a lot."

She chuckled. "Yes, I know what that means."

"So, really, do you cook all the time?"

"Well, yeah. Except when I was in college, I've always liked being in the kitchen. It's easier with a family. When I was married, we ate in a lot. My husband was picky, so I made things he liked, but now that I'm at home again with my folks, my mom and I share kitchen duties."

He was quiet for a moment before asking, "I don't want to get too personal, but why did you get divorced?"

"I guess, like most stories, it's a little complicated. It really goes back to the question of why I got married in the first place. He wasn't the guy I thought he was. I learned a lot about people pretending to be someone they're not during that time."

"You've got a little girl from it."

"Yes. She's the one prize I took away from the marriage. Millie is my joy. She's extraordinary."

Nicky showed Taylor pictures of her daughter on her phone. He smiled. "She's adorable. What's she like?"

"She's a combination of my ex and me. He was brilliant, so brilliant that he thought he could conquer anything, including booze and drugs. Her personality is more like me. She's smart and inquisitive and full of joy. She makes everyone happy being around her. It's not apparent to everyone, with her needs, but I can see it. She's three, and I can hardly stand being away from her. I try to call her several times each day when I'm here." She tried to hide her emotion while talking.

Taylor commented. "She's got a nice smile in all the pictures. I can see you in her."

"People say that." She paused for a moment. "She may have a problem, though."

Taylor looked inquisitive, but didn't say anything.

Nicky continued. "Her Pediatrician is concerned about ASD, Autism. They can't be sure and it's hard to diagnose, but she's showing some signs. I guess I only see the positives, but my mom is with her during most days. Millie has a tendency to get intense about some things, more than just curiosity. Most kids have short attention to anything, but Millie can stay interested in single details that three-year-olds don't usually show."

"That doesn't sound so bad. I wish I could concentrate better sometimes."

"It's not what it sounds like. She also gets hyper and frustrated when some routines change. It's a combination of a lot of things. We're watching her to see if it gets worse, but for now, she's just my sweet girl."

"It's easy to see what she means to you." He was getting more personal than intended. He shifted, "Wow...look at that sky."

"You mean those gigantic white thunder clouds on the horizon?"

"Yeah, we probably have another hour before the downpour. You want some coffee or tea?"

"Tea would be nice."

It didn't take an hour. The storm hit before eight o'clock. Taylor rescued his patio table and chairs, bringing them inside, before the high winds and deluge. When the full force hit, wind pounded the glass doors, and rain flew vertically for several minutes. There was more than an inch of standing water on the grounds and the pool rose to its rim. But the main feature of the storm was the immense electrical flashes, with lighting all around and thunder rattling the windows.

"Welcome to Louisiana!" He found himself shouting over the noise, as they sat together on the sofa watching a movie, expecting to lose power at any moment.

She was nervous and cuddled closer to him – at least she said she was nervous. "We get thunder storms in Maine too, but nothing like this. Could we get flooded?"

He wrapped his arm around her, "Not likely. The weather radar shows a thin line of clouds. It'll only last a few more minutes. You'll see. If the sun were still up, we'd probably have a rainbow out there somewhere. It'll be clear soon." He kept his arms around her and she leaned closer.

The storm wasn't huge by southern standards, but the drones from the ship weren't going to fly that night. Jagneau wasn't planning on another small shipment from Carlos for a few days, due to the weather.

Mikey

"I don't want a father, Momma. I just want you. Why do you want someone, anyway? We got each other. It's all we ever had."

How could Sarah explain it to her son? He was right in his way. She was the only parent he'd ever known, and there was abundant love in their home. "Mikey, you know I'll always be your momma. I'll always love you, no matter. It's just that ... well, someone fancies me. He's a grown man, and he could give me another life. Not a better life than with you, just different."

"Who do you mean, Momma, you mean that man, Owen, or Mike?"

She hugged him. "For me it's gotta be Owen, Honey. For you, I mean your father. Owen already has kids and doesn't want more."

"So, for me you mean my daddy, Mike ... is he gonna live with us, too?"

"No, child, your daddy lives in Louisiana, and that's where you'd be with him, if it happens."

"He doesn't want me, Momma. You always told me he went away and didn't care."

"I didn't say he didn't care, just he went away."

"It's the same! He doesn't want me."

She didn't know what else to say. Her son was upset. The only world he'd ever known was changing around him, and he couldn't control it. All he could understand was that he wouldn't live with his mother any more. He would never be able to rationalize her situation. It was destroying her emotionally, Mikey was everything to Sarah.

She was behind in rent and on welfare. If things didn't improve, she'd be homeless. At best, she could move back with her parents, but they were nearly broke, too, and they didn't want Mikey as their grandson. To them, he was just an accident of misguided youth who was a scourge on their daughter. Her father, especially, was cold-hearted. He'd told her to put "the boy" up for adoption. He never called him by name. Her mother would be more agreeable, but she was totally controlled by her husband. Sarah only had one chance to have any kind of life for herself. She needed the chance that Owen offered.

She and Owen had flirted for more than a year at the diner before she learned anything about him. She flirted with all the men. It got her more tips, although some of them misread her and thought their charm was worth something. Owen had been one of them, a guy who never gave her a dollar after a full breakfast and wasting half an hour sipping coffee refills. He came in especially early every morning she worked to stare at the pretty counter girl before the tire store opened. When her car needed tires, and she couldn't afford it, he had a set of worn tires installed. It didn't cost him anything, but he never left her alone after that, taking up space at the counter with no income to her.

The last two months had been different. Owen started talking about divorcing his wife. He did it when nobody else was nearby, just letting her know that he was becoming "available." She initially tried to avoid discussing it. She sensed that he was advancing and resisted at first. He wasn't attractive: middle-aged, bald on top with a comb-over haircut, paunchy with a gut overhanging his belt by inches. She once had a bad dream about sex with him, and he couldn't find a position that would work. It disgusted her. But then he started talking about his income, over fifty thousand a year, and having a rental house paid for.

Sarah had never owned a house. She'd never spent more than five hundred for a car, and they never ran more than a year or two. Owen had a lifestyle she could only dream about. She'd started having the dream of a home as he became more assertive. In most of the dreams, Owen was away at work or harassing some other waitress, leaving her alone in her own home with a car that actually worked. Now, she'd committed to be with him, but Mikey couldn't be included.

It struck her hardest when she first talked to her son about it. Until then, it was just hypothetical. But now, Mikey felt like she was throwing him out. She knew the feeling; it had happened to her. It crushed her. Contacting Taylor was a desperation act, and now she didn't know what to do. Owen was pushing her, and Mikey was upset. Taylor hadn't solved anything. Meeting him again only made things worse, coming-then-going from their lives.

Mike Taylor was everything she remembered. He was handsome, smart, and caring. He had a good job. It seemed like nothing had changed over the years, he was the same guy, just grown up. But it was almost a week since he'd been there, and he hadn't called. Maybe Mikey was right, Taylor didn't care. He saw his son for the first time, then just drove away without a word. Oddly, it was almost a relief; she was beginning to feel that a life of poverty, with her son, was better than some fictional existence with Owen, who had already proven that he wasn't a loyal husband. She felt strangely calm, imagining Owen fading away from her ... then, her phone rang.

"Sarah, it's Mike, Mike Taylor."

"Mike? Ah, hi, why you callin'?" She didn't know what else to say.

He didn't want to say that he'd been too busy to call or that he had more important things to do. He avoided an explanation. "I wanted to thank you for letting me see my son, our son. I know it was awkward for you, and he wasn't thrilled, but it was special to me." Talking to Nicky about her daughter had helped solidify his feelings. "I was wondering if I could see Mike, Jr. and you again. I would really like to get to know him." He wanted to say more, but words didn't come.

She closed her eyes and sat quietly. "When?"

"I'm off duty this weekend. Could I come over then?" He would let Nicky monitor the park cameras. If the SUV came – well, he just couldn't be there those days. His son was now a reality to him, and most important.

"I guess so. Mike, I ..." She didn't finish her thought. She wasn't sure what she wanted to say. She wanted more than anything for Taylor to know his son, and maybe love him someday. "Mike, he's confused right now, I hope you could see that."

"Sarah, so am I. Until you contacted me, and I met him, and you, I didn't understand how important it could be. It hit me when I was there. It even hit me harder after I left. I've thought about you both every day. I truly want to be with my son again. I wanna get to know him and do things with him. I was thinking about going fishing together on one of the piers there. It's an easy way for guys to talk."

"I think it'll be all right, Mike. He's not happy right now, but I think he'll go with you." She paused. "Mike ... please don't play games with Mikey. He's a good boy and doesn't know what's happening to him. You could scare him real easy, or even worse; you could get him real messed up."

"I know what you're saying, Sarah. Look, I would never do anything intending to hurt him. At least, I'd try not to. I've never been a dad before either, so this is kinda touch and go for me. I just want to try."

"Maybe you shouldn't try too hard, yet. Just try to be his friend and maybe bein' his daddy could be later. He might never see it that way, but I ... just don't rush it."

"I'll give you a call when I'm coming."

Taylor had called while driving to work. It excited him. He would see his son again. Talking to Nicky made him understand that it was all right to love a child. She was a different person when talking about Millie. At that moment, her feelings were totally focused, just on her daughter. Later that night, after she'd gone to bed, he started thinking about Mike, Jr. He wanted someone to depend on him like Millie depended on Nicky. It was a special burden: the kind that gives back more than it takes. He'd never been responsible for anyone but himself. A wife would be another adult; not the same kind of responsibility as a child. Children can't survive alone. It was an immense gift to have someone depend on you for everything. He'd never experienced anything like it, but now it was being offered to him from the only person on earth who could give it to him, Sarah.

Two more days went by without intruders at the park, then Taylor drove to Texas. Nicky thought it was great that he wanted to see his son again. It reaffirmed her feelings toward him as a good man. They hadn't discussed what to do if the SUV was spotted in the park. In truth, Taylor didn't have a plan yet. He wasn't even thinking about it. He was going to see his son, and this visit would be different. This time, he knew what to expect, there wouldn't be any mystery about the boy or Sarah. This time, he wanted to know Mike, Jr. There was no agenda, no timeframe. He just wanted to know his son. After all the years apart, he couldn't hope to know much in the span of one weekend, but it was a start, and he would keep making the trips for as long as it took.

It was around noon time when he checked into the motel and called Sarah. She was at work, but stepped into the kitchen area when he called her cell. "Hey, I've arrived."

"Good. I'm glad you're here. Mikey's at home this morning and I have to be here until one o'clock."

"Should I go see him now?"

"I think it would be better if I was there."

"Okay, I have an idea. What if we all went to the beach this afternoon?"

"It might be okay, I think he'll go along even if he's not real happy about it."

"Sarah, I know he's unhappy, and I want to change that. I don't want him to think I'm pushing him. I know we just met, and he has his ideas about me. After all, I'm the father that disappeared. He probably thinks I abandoned him. It'll take time, but I want him to like me."

"Okay, I gotta run, come by at one-thirty, and we'll be ready."

"Great."

He had more than an hour to relax. Having Sarah come along made a lot of sense. Mike, Jr. would be more comfortable. Taylor couldn't help feeling more comfortable as well. After all these years, he still felt something for her. It was just a dream all these years, him and Sarah together, now it was really happening. She was different and so was he. She was planning to live with another man. He got that part, but it still felt good to think of being near her again.

But, he couldn't help thinking about Nicky. She'd been living in his apartment for only a few days, yet he missed her. He would call her later in the day or at night, depending on how things went with Mike, Jr. – and Sarah. In the span of a few weeks, there were three important people in his life. He'd never had even one before.

At exactly one-thirty, he parked in Sarah's carport. She'd already stacked folding chairs, an umbrella and an ice chest for him to load into the truck. She came out as he finished. "Mikey is getting ready, he'll be out in a minute."

Taylor smiled. "Looks like you got all the right gear for the beach."

"Just because I'm poor doesn't mean a girl in Corpus isn't always ready for the beach. Me and Mikey'll give a hand with it all."

Sarah knew of a beautiful flat beach about thirty minutes away, farther away from town than most tourists would travel. There were only a few other families there. It didn't take long for Mike, Jr. to start enjoying himself. He played in the surf with Taylor and was a good swimmer for his age. Taylor was surprised at this. He grabbed a Frisbee and tossed it around with Mike, Jr. They played for half an hour before Mikey wanted to rest on his towel.

Taylor sat on the sand near Sarah, resting under her umbrella. "He's got a real arm, Sarah. Where did he learn to swim so well?"

She smiled. "He took lessons at the 'Y'; he got good real fast."

An older couple strolled by along the water's edge hand-in-hand and smiled approvingly at the young couple with their boy. It sent a pang of regret through Taylor. He wondered if Sarah felt the same way. Did she see how those folks looked at us? He'd missed a lot in their lives -- too much. "You know, Sarah, there are days that I really hate my father. He sent me away without a word, figuring it would erase everything."

She looked at him, knowing exactly how he felt. "It's the way they was brought up, I guess. My daddy was the same. I got sent away too, you know. They weren't ever gonna let us be together again ... just two old farmers dislikin' each other's child. They thought they was protecting us from each other."

She looked away. It hurt talking about it. Sarah was still the person he'd known as a kid, not wanting to say anything mean about another person. She couldn't say what she really felt about the father who kicked her out. Taylor hardly remembered the man, but he surely had a cold soul. His father was the same.

Taylor had had it easy by comparison. He was just confused and heartbroken when it happened, but at least he was intact and carefree afterward. Sarah had been ostracized, kicked out, pregnant, with no options, stuck for life. At least he could escape to the military and even pick up a college degree while on duty. Sarah was doomed by comparison. He had the urge to put an arm around her, but it would send the wrong signal. She wasn't looking for his affection. They'd only known each other a couple days, as adults. They had their past, which they could recount together freely, but their adult lives had been apart. They didn't know each other now. No matter how much empathy he felt at that moment, it wasn't his prerogative to assume anything about Sarah. Instead, he looked out at the sea and Mike, Jr. resting on the warm sand. They did make a perfect family picture.

Late in the afternoon, when the sun was low in the sky, it was time to leave. Taylor and Mike, Jr. having played more and body-surfed together, were both briny and sandy, needing a shower. The adults were ready to leave but Mike, Jr. resisted. By that measure, Taylor's plan had succeeded.

When he dropped them at her home, he asked, "Can I take you both out to dinner later, after we've all cleaned up a bit?"

Sarah didn't accept immediately. "Mike, we all had a great time. It's nice of you to spend time with us, but you don't need to be entertaining us every moment." Mike, Jr. had already run inside to shower.

"Sarah, I don't feel like I've got a duty to do anything. I want to be with you and Mike. I know this is about him and me, but it's working best when you're involved. He feels safer with you. I really want to be with you both while I'm here. How about I pick you up at six?"

"No ... make it six-thirty, a girl takes time to get ready." She was smiling.

So was Taylor.

The night was a breakthrough. Mike, Jr. began talking more freely at dinner directly to Taylor, but he still didn't trust his motives. On the other hand, Taylor liked every moment with his son. He also remembered something Sarah had advised about being patient and not upsetting him. Things were going well, and then, as they ate, Mike, Jr. caught the adults off guard. "Mike, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, Mike, what is it?"

"Would you marry my momma?"

While Taylor and Sarah sat stunned, his phone buzzed. "Excuse me."

The display indicated a call from Nicky. Taylor said it was police related and stepped away from the table. "Hi ... what's up?"

"Mike, the alarm went off. I think the SUV's in the park. It was a white van in the video, it looks like an SUV. I think they're in the park."

"Damn! Look, Nicky, I can't do anything from here. Just watch the video when they leave and try to get the license. The receiver will record it so there isn't anything else we can do."

"Should I call the police?"

"No! You can't call anyone. It's illegal surveillance. Besides, who could you call? The park's under somebody's control that we don't know; and the Sheriff ... well, I would just get into trouble, and any evidence would be thrown out. There's just nothing we can do right now. We need to wait 'til next time."

"Maybe there won't be a next time. I'm going down there to see what's going on."

"No! Don't you move! This is dangerous, Nicky, and you gotta stay away."

"Mike, I have my gun. If these guys killed Amanda, I want to get them."

"Shit, Nicky. You just stay put! You're no match for these guys, no matter whom they are, you need to stay home and watch the screen."

"Thanks, Taylor, enjoy your son." The line went dead.

Taylor quickly redialed. It went immediately to voicemail. She'd turned her phone off.

He went back to the table, uncertain what to do next. Sarah and Mike, Jr. had been talking and the boy appeared to be pouting.

Sarah said, "Important?"

"Yeah ... kinda, look, I need to go back to the office."

She could tell by his expression and body language that it was serious. "Mike, it's okay, we understand."

He nodded and Sarah finished. "Can I talk to you privately?"

They walked together outside again as Mike, Jr. sat expressionless at the table.

Outside, Sarah said, "Look, Mike, I don't know where Mikey got that notion. I never said anything about it to him. He just invented it all on his own."

"It's okay, Sarah. Kids will be kids. Look at it this way; he could be liking me more, now."

"I know, but I don't wanna marry you, it wasn't my idea, so you gotta know he brought that right outta the blue."

He wanted to say more, wanted to stay and get to know them better. He was thinking about Sarah and Mike, Jr. both now. "Look, I've really got to go, it could be a life or death matter. I wouldn't go for any other reason, please believe me."

Sarah put her hand on his arm. "I know you do, Mike. I'll explain to Mikey." She kissed him on his cheek and left him standing. God, does she really believe me? What will Junior think of me now?

Alone

She was trembling. Nicky had driven too fast to the park's rear entrance where the SUV had entered. She slid in the gravel, stopping abruptly alongside the highway. She was scared, petrified, and unsure what to do next. Then she thought of Amanda, not as the park Ranger on duty, but as her little sister, alone, in the dark just like Nicky was tonight. One difference was that Nicky already knew the vehicle was inside the park, and she had a gun. Amanda had been there without a gun or knowing the danger. Nicky was prepared both ways.

It was dark, and there were a few cars passing, the traffic was very light. She left the car and walked slowly to the levee road. She held the gun in both hands as Taylor had taught her and carried a spare magazine in her pants pocket. She had no way of knowing that Taylor was already driving toward her, just over four hours away. After taking a long turn in the road, she saw a light from inside the SUV. The tailgate, facing her, had opened for a moment. The light went out. Someone was there, unaware that Nicky was approaching. She stopped as the silhouette moved away from her, along the narrow edge of the levee beside the car, toward the front. She didn't move. Oh, Mike, I wish you were here!

The park was quiet except for the frogs and a slight breeze through the reeds. Then there was another faint noise, like a fan, moving across the swamp. It was too dark to see anything. The noise paused somewhere ahead of the SUV, then moved away quickly in the direction from which it came, toward the ocean. Nicky crouched and moved to the side of the road, toward some tall reeds, afraid of sliding into the swamp. She didn't know enough to think about the deadly creatures slithering nearby.

Taylor redialed several times, but always got the same result. Damn, Nicky, don't you do anything stupid! He realized how much she meant to him, as a friend, or maybe more. He thought about Millie and about Nicky playing with her daughter. He couldn't clear his mind of the little girl's picture. He drove faster, weaving between cars, hoping no cops were around. It was pitch black, but still too early for the Saturday night drunks who might collide with him to be on the road. He also had a vision of Sarah and Mike, Jr., sitting at the table as he hurried away. Where did Mikey come up with a notion like that? His mind jumped between the two women, both with kids, both special to him. It was nuts! Both women had become more than casual friends. He forced himself to concentrate on Nicky who could be in danger. But it was a long lonely drive, and Sarah kept appearing in his mind too. He was thinking about both at the same time.

He'd never had a serious girl before. As children, Sarah would have qualified, but that was long ago, when they were just kids. After school and the military, and even after taking the Sheriff's job in Taylor, he'd never had a serious relationship. The "right girl" had never come along. Now, he had two that he couldn't stop thinking about. Neither were his official girlfriend, yet. They both had their separate lives, far away from him, with family responsibilities, and one was committed to someone named Owen. But their images kept flashing together and separately in his mind. Now, though, he needed to get to Nicky. She could be doing something really foolish.

She waited and listened. Her eyes had adjusted, but there wasn't much starlight. Then the tailgate opened again, casting bright light that overpowered her night vision. A man put a box-like package in the back of the SUV in the compartment where the spare tire belonged. When he closed the gate, about all she could still see was the embossed image of the now-extinguished light. She'd only seen one man.

She ran forward toward the SUV, sensing the road more than seeing it. She yelled. "You, stop there, I have a gun!"

Johnny Jagneaux stood frozen, instinctively raising his hands, startled and scared. He was even more blinded from the glare than Nicky. "All right, don't shoot me!"

Nicky moved forward, pointing the gun in his general direction but shaking badly. Taylor said it wasn't easy ... now she knew he was right. "You just stand right there." She didn't know what to do next.

Jagneau sensed that the woman wasn't a police officer. She hadn't announced anything official and seemed pretty amateurish. "You really got a gun, lady?"

"Yes, I do, and I know how to shoot."

"Why you aimin' at me anyways? What'd I do?"

"You killed my little sister. Now you're going to jail."

"Your sister? Lady, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Amanda Bryant! You killed her with a hammer."

Jagneau had had enough run-ins with the law to remain calm, at least he was calmer than the woman. "You really got a gun?" He started dropping his hands.

She couldn't see his hands and stood rigidly, twenty feet away, both hands on the gun. "Yes, I have a gun!" Her voice raised an octave.

"So, what you gonna do? You gonna shoot me or just stand there wagglin' that thing like it's real?"

"It is real, and don't you move!"

She sounded alone and scared.

"Well, I'll tell you what, lady. I'm gonna get in my car and drive on outta here. You can shoot me if you want, but you won't." He turned toward the front, walking to the driver's door.

"Stop -- stop or I'll shoot!" Tears, sweat, and nerves had overtaken her. She was paralyzed, standing in the middle of the road.

Jagneau smashed the gas pedal, accelerating in reverse toward Nicky. She screamed and jumped, falling into the swamp, unable to regain balance. The SUV stopped in a cloud of shell dust and Jagneau raced around toward her. "Okay Bitch, you gonna get the same as yo' sister!"

She couldn't regain balance or stand, but she pulled the trigger. The sound resonated throughout the park and Jagneaux stopped. She does have a gun! She fired again as he ran back to the driver's side. He spun tires in the gravel, driving in reverse, backing onto the highway a hundred feet away. Nicky fired repeatedly, never stable enough to aim well. She just kept pulling the trigger. She stopped when she realized the gun wasn't firing any more. Something she heard in the reeds behind her triggered her survival instincts. She sloshed out of the water and ran hysterical back to her car. She lost the gun somewhere in all the confusion.

Hours later, Taylor came to the park first, fearful that she'd actually gone after the SUV. There was no sign of her car, so he drove home, arriving near midnight. He found her curled on the couch in a robe, hair in a towel. She didn't move and sat trembling.

He went to her and they embraced. He said, "It's okay, Nicky, you're safe, I'm here."

She couldn't talk, but her arms tightened almost to the point of hurting him. He asked softly, "You want to tell me what happened?"

She released him momentarily, and he could see her swollen red eyes. She'd been crying. He held her again.

Finally, she could talk. "I saw him, Mike. I tried to shoot him. He said he killed Amanda."

"It's okay, baby. I didn't see anyone at the park, no cops and no SUV. I guess you didn't shoot him."

"I tried. He tried to run over me, and then he stopped. I shot, but he just drove away. I couldn't tell where I was shooting. I just shot."

"Don't worry about it, Sweetheart. I don't think he'll be complaining to anyone. Did you hit him?"

"I don't know, probably not, he was running and driving, so I don't think so. I probably hit his car though. I was only a few feet away, and some bullets must have hit the car. I wasn't aiming. I was so scared. You were right ... you were right. I don't ever want to have a gun again."

He snuggled closer to her, and she rested her head on his chest. It was hours later when he carried her, sleeping, into her bed.

Changes

"I coulda been shot! My Cadillac got some holes. I was lucky to get home at all last night. Some wild woman says she's the sister of that ranger girl, and she's taking me to jail. I barely escaped with my life."

"Did you kill her?"

Jagneau wasn't getting any sympathy from the Big Man. "I tried. I got close an' she opened up on me. She fired like crazy. I didn't have a gun, so I got outta there. I'm lucky to be alive."

"So, where'd she come from? How'd she know you would be there?"

"I don't know, it's a mystery."

The Big Man wasn't impressed. "Look genius, I don't believe in mysteries. She knew you were there. Was she alone?"

"Far's I could tell. I never saw anyone but her, and she's the one doin' all the shootin'."

Jagneaux was still shaken up. He hadn't delivered the package last night. It was still in his car parked inside his garage. He was explaining to the Big Man why he missed the delivery. He'd been too scared and didn't want to chance being pulled over by cops with bullet holes in his car. Now, he had another problem. The crips had gone to the plantation for the delivery, and he didn't show.

His doorbell rang. "I gotta go. I got it under control." Only he didn't have anything under control. Things seemed to be collapsing around him. He looked at the monitor for the front door camera. Christ, a cop!

He took a moment to compose himself, then pressed the intercom. "Yes, can I help you?"

Taylor spoke at the wall speaker, "Yes, this is Deputy Taylor of the Cameron Parish Sheriff's office. Can I speak to Mr. John Jagneaux, please."

"What about?"

"Just a few questions, Mr. Jagneaux."

"Ah, I'm kinda busy now, Deputy." Jagneau's hands were shaking.

"Just some questions, Mr. Jagneaux. There was shooting in our Parish last night, and I'm trying to get to the bottom of it. Your license was recorded by someone at the scene."

"Ah, that's a mistake, Deputy, I was at home all last night."

"Can I speak to you, sir."

Jagneau was reluctant to meet with the Deputy, but also didn't want to create suspicion. For all he knew, the wild woman had shot herself by mistake. He had enough troubles already. He opened the door. "So, someone thinks they saw me last night?"

"That's right, sir. Where were you around seven last night, just after night fall?"

"Like I said, Deputy, right here, now can I go?"

"Did you loan your car to anyone else, a Cadillac SUV?"

"Ah, no. No, I didn't." He stammered.

"Well, sir, the witness was convinced of the license number and identified a white Cadillac, which exactly matches a car registered to you."

Jagneaux shook his head. "No, it can't be mine."

"It may be damaged, sir, according to the witness. We could clear this up right now if you could show it to me."

"Well ... that's not possible, Deputy. It's in the shop. I took it this morning."

"Okay, sir, can you give me the name and address of the shop so that I can go by there?"

Jagneaux screwed up. This Deputy wasn't going away easily. He felt desperate. "You seem awfully untrusting, Deputy."

"I'm sorry, sir, just got to close out this investigation. You know how it is, got a boss who insists on closing every issue, top to bottom."

"Well, I guess you need to tell the Sheriff over in your Parish that I'm not saying anything more or opening my garage without a search warrant."

"I thought the car was at a shop?"

"Yeah, well, same thing. I could prove it by showing you an empty garage, or my car when it's back this afternoon. Either way, I don't want to answer any more questions. Good bye." He closed the door.

Taylor was tempted to circle around and look for a window in the garage, but he'd already risked too much. He was there on false pretense and couldn't afford to risk trespassing as well. He was out of his Parish and hadn't notified the locals. His Sheriff thought he was on patrol, somewhere in Cameron. But he'd accomplished what he needed at Jagneaux's house. There wasn't any doubt in his mind that Jagneaux was the one Nicky tried to capture last night. He also suspected the car had a bullet hole or two.

Inside the house, Jagneaux watched Taylor pull away. He would deliver the goods tonight if the crips could be reached. He didn't like problems in his operation. It had gone smoothly for months until that idiot Leroy took the ranger from the park. Now it felt like the walls of his house were falling in on him.

Back at Taylor's apartment, they stayed in that night. Nicky was upset about screwing up so badly, but Taylor was consoling. She was alive and unhurt, so good by his standards. She frowned, "I was a real idiot, wasn't I? I let vengeance overtake me. I don't know what I was thinking. You were right."

"Nicky, you're safe now, so all is well. All I could think about when driving back from Corpus was you face down in the swamp. I can't tell you how it felt. I should never have given you a gun."

They were standing in his kitchen. She put her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest. "You care about me, Taylor ... I knew it!"

He admitted to himself that it was true. "Sure I do. You've turned me into a rogue cop. Life was so peaceful before you came here." He hugged her back. He liked holding her.

They talked a bit about what to do next, both weary. They ate dinner with some red wine, avoiding talk of crimes and criminals. She asked, "So, how was your short visit with Mike, Jr.? I'm sorry I wrecked your weekend with him."

He smiled, "It was nice. We went to the beach and had a good time. He's actually talking to me now."

"Did his mother come?"

"Sarah, yeah, she came. She sat under the umbrella, reading while we played."

"So, what's it like being around your 'first'?"

He practically choked. He'd never thought of Sarah as a "first." But, Nicky was right, Sarah had been his first – and he had a hard time admitting to himself that she'd also been his "only" until this point. "Ah, you know, we were kids, but we all change as adults. There's a well-off guy in Corpus she wants to move in with, but he doesn't want kids. So she's trying to figure out what to do with her son."

She took a last bite and thought about what to say. "You know, that's a sad story. Here's a kid who grew up not knowing his father until now, and now his mother's trying to get rid of him. I could never do that to Millie, not in a million years."

"You make it sound harsher than it is. She's had it hard all of her adult life. Her folks don't want anything to do with her and the boy; she didn't finish high school and works for tips in a sleazy diner; she lives in an old trailer and is about to be evicted. She just doesn't want her son living in the back of a broken-down car or some shelter with her. He's a good kid who's had love all his life, and she doesn't want to lose him, but she also wants him to have a better life than she can give."

She'd assumed the worst, or maybe wished the worst. Nicky was having trouble understanding her own feelings toward Taylor, fearing that she was heading for the same impetuous trap she'd gotten into with men before. When she came from Maine, the last thing she expected was to fall for some guy in Louisiana. She'd fought it, but, somehow, the feelings persisted. Here she was, casting aspersions toward another woman whom she'd never met. She was falling for this guy and hoping he wasn't getting pulled away by another woman. "I'm sorry, Mike. I have no right to say anything derogatory. I'll never earn mother-of-the-year award. Here I am, fifteen hundred miles away from my little girl, living with a man I just met and shooting at people. Put that up against someone with hard luck, raising her son the best way she can – see who's the better mom."

She stood and ran to her bedroom, leaving Taylor wondering what it was all about.

Play Cool

Taylor began his shift early the next morning. He liked the early mornings before the phones rang constantly and the courts needed service or people came in with complaints. The mornings were quiet, and he could concentrate on preparing his reports. He also got off early in the afternoon, which gave him time for his workout routine with buddies at the gym and sometimes he'd go fishing or flying after that. He dated occasionally, but nothing steady. He liked the free time, but that was all before Nicky and Sarah turned his peaceful life upside down. His routine was shot. He smiled to himself.

He made a quick trip to the court house for a summons that he delivered in the Parish. He didn't generally read the complaints, and this time was no exception. When he returned to the Sheriff's office, there was a familiar dark sedan parked out front, in the Visitor space. Inside, the receptionist, May, told him to go to the "boss's office."

There, two familiar men were sitting in the large office, opposite Sheriff Custis, seated behind his oversized wooden desk. He gestured for Taylor to enter. "Gentlemen, this is Deputy Taylor."

Nobody shook hands. Taylor stood to the side, between Gay and the men who remained sitting. One said, "Yes, we met the Deputy a couple nights ago."

Taylor answered, "Is that right? I don't remember that."

The suit responded, more to the Sheriff than Taylor, "We were on a stakeout when the Deputy here told us to clear out."

"Oh, yeah, I remember. You were parked in a no-parking zone."

"Actually, we weren't, and your Deputy here knew it. He purposely blew our surveillance."

"Well, as I remember it now, gentlemen, you stuck out like turds in a punch bowl."

The Sheriff interrupted the bantering. "Taylor, these agents are with the DEA. Seems we have some kind of a high-stakes operation going on here, and these gentlemen are looking for a young lady."

DEA? Why didn't they say this before? Taylor stiffened. "Who would that be?"

"We're looking for Ms. Nicole Bryant. We understand you know her."

"We've met. May I ask why you want to find Ms. Bryant?"

"You can ask, but we're not at liberty to say."

"Oh, I see. Well, as far as I know, she's been staying at some local motel and spending time cleaning her sister's apartment. Her sister was murdered, you know. She and her father are taking some things back to Maine, where they live. You think she's in some kind of drug deal?"

The first agent didn't answer the question. "We know where the Bryants live, but she could still be down here, which is a problem. We gotta detain her for a while."

Taylor was ready to elevate the discussion and teach this asshole some manners. He looked at the Sheriff, who was allowing Taylor to lead the discussion. "Well, what more can we do for the DEA?"

"You can give us the Bryant girl."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Look, smart ass, we know you've been seeing her. It's no accident you pulled us off her place. So, give her up and you won't see us again. Otherwise, you may find out exactly what it means to piss off the DEA."

Taylor smiled. "Well, you know, we always support our federal brothers-in-blue, just like you support us local hicks. If I run across Ms. Bryant, how can I get in touch with you?"

"Just call this mobile number." The other suit handed him a blank card with the number.

He glanced at the card, turning it over. "You know, you guys really enjoy the secret bullshit." He looked at the Sheriff, "If it's all right boss, I have more important work to do." Taylor left without waiting for response.

The DEA men left a couple minutes later, and Taylor missed any additional dialogue with the Sheriff. Gay Custis wasn't impressed by the visitors. A couple Washington-types were out of their element here, and probably didn't know it. They could easily confuse southern hospitality with cooperation. If cooperation was needed, they would get zero from the local Sheriff's office. After they left, Custis didn't bother to summon Taylor for debriefing. He just shook his head and worked on other matters.

That night, Taylor told Nicky about the meeting. "Why me? I haven't done anything ... have I?"

"They didn't say much, Nicky. All I can figure is you trespassed on the park property and discharged a firearm. Those are misdemeanors. If you shot anyone, they'd have an arrest warrant, but they didn't show one to the Sheriff, which they should have. But it doesn't explain why they were outside Amanda's place."

"This scares me, Mike. They couldn't know anything about me shooting at that drug guy, Jagneaux. There wasn't anyone else there."

"I don't know Nicky, maybe they got a license from your parked car, Amanda's license. Or, maybe, they put more cameras back up. I just don't know. But, whatever's going on, you better stay out of sight here as much as possible."

"Aren't you obstructing justice, keeping me here?"

"Maybe, but I doubt it's important and they didn't mention any charges. They didn't show a warrant or even tell the Sheriff why they wanted to talk to you. This is still our territory, and nobody's proven otherwise."

"Maybe I should just go home."

His face showed disappointment. It occurred to him at that moment how much he wanted her to stay. "Nicky, I don't know what to tell you. They probably have surveillance on me now, too."

"You've been great Mike, but I need to be home with my baby! I'm through here. That guy, Jagneaux, killed Amanda, but he'll get his someday. It always happens to drug people. He'll get killed in some awful way by some gang or cartel. I can wait. I just want to go home now. I didn't come here to start trouble." Her eyes told a different story. She initially turned away, but then turned and hugged him.

"Let's give it a couple days, Nicky, something will happen and this will all be over. The Sheriff said it was a 'big operation,' which the DEA didn't describe further. This thing's in motion. I think this will blow over soon. For now, let's take Amanda's car and leave it at her apartment. That might confuse things."

Preparation

Johnny Jagneaux was overcome with anxiety. His pulse raced and the sweat wouldn't stop. People had been murdered, he'd nearly been shot, the crips were always threatening, and a Sheriff was investigating him. He had enough ... but he couldn't quit now because of the coming biggest deal ever in his short smuggling career. If he disappeared now, the cartel would hunt him down. Besides, the profit for him would more than double his off-shore account. He had enough money stashed away already to live in the Caribbean and try to convince his estranged wife to join him again with his kids. She'd left more than a year ago when he began his illegal drug trade. She said she wanted a divorce, but so far, no papers. He wouldn't make it easy, and she knew it. Now, if he cashed-out in just four more weeks after this deal, he would make up with her and they could live a carefree life away from crime.

He would go out of the country, with or without her. He would never be able to come back to the states, but his wife and kids could. They wouldn't be wanted for his crimes. They were innocent. He might even be able to bribe his way back if he wasn't accused of murder. He planned for the worse, but maybe no charges would ever come. He just needed to get through the next deal. After that, he'd be set for life. He wanted out of this business!

That crazy woman had shot at him in the swamp. He'd done a half-assed job patching the holes in the car using filler and spray cans from the auto-parts store. It was a sin to treat his new Cadillac that way, but he only needed to hide the bullet holes for a month, if things went on schedule. One bullet had hit a window, which he hid under a baby warning sign. In a month, he'd leave the country after burning the house with the car in the garage. He'd always been a good planner, and this was his best plan yet.

His phone rang. "Carlos?"

"Yes, Johnny. Please come to the boat."

It was the usual cryptic communications they used over the telephone. He drove to the marina near dusk and was soon navigating through the breakwater, going to full throttle. He used the radio, "Carlos, give me the GPS coordinates."

Within twenty minutes, he saw the fishing boat's lights. They would know he was approaching from radar. A crewman jumped onto the bow of Jagneaux's boat when he was alongside. Two others pulled him aboard. Carlos was alone at the controls and greeted his partner brusquely.

"What's up Carlos?"

"Johnny, I need to tell you ... a drone did not return from our last shipment."

This was very bad news. It would take weeks to have a new one built, tested and programmed. Jagneaux hated the idea of working with Glen Puritz again. He didn't trust the guy, but they had a huge shipment that must deliver in less than a month. "Carlos, what happened?"

The captain just shrugged, he had no idea. There were many reasons the drone could disappear and Carlos didn't have any way to know. The worst scenario would be a collision with another aircraft. The second worst scenario would be discovery of the bird that might be traceable to Jagneaux. So far, nothing had been reported. At least, nobody had contacted him. He worried that it might not be too hard to trace something, maybe even the parts, to him or to Puritz. Their best hope would be for a crash into deep water.

His anxiety was turning to terror. "That's not good, Carlos, we got 200 ki's coming, and three birds will need to fly all night ... maybe two nights.

"I know, Johnny, but we can't do nothing about it now."

He sat down and rubbed his forehead. "I gotta tell the Big Man."

"Si, I will send him a message so he will contact us. You may wish to sit in the galley with the crew for a drink."

The message was transmitted using the CB omni-directional radio, heard in all directions, so it was brief ... "Call your little brother."

The Big Man claimed to have a narrow-beam system that could direct his radio at the boat and nowhere else. On board, they had no way to verify this, of course, but there had never been any reason to doubt the man. The intercom blared, "Johnny, come to the bridge." Carlos was receiving a message from the Big Man, probably from South America.

Jagneaux explained the missing drone and the low risk that it would be discovered. They all spoke in generic terms to avoid suspicion. Without all the birds, the large shipment would be on board the fishing boat too long, it would take three drones days to deliver the load. Two days of perfect weather would be needed just to get it on shore. This increased the risk of capture. Two good flying days in a row was nearly impossible for the drones. Even one day away was hard to predict. A thunder storm, or worse, a tropical storm, could change everything. The drones didn't have much reserve power and the batteries took hours to recharge. Pickup and delivery to the crips along the coast was always risky, even if it took only minutes. Another drone could be lost during long flights – something could always go wrong with any of the aircraft. It already had. The odds of success were getting low.

"Well, I can't stop production now. You need to overcome all the risks. Just be sure to have the money ready. The supplier will not tolerate delays in his payments." The message ended.

It was clear. All the risk was on Jagneaux. He slammed a bulkhead with his fist. "Carlos, you will need to bring the boat close to shore."

"Johnny ... is imposibilidad! I must stay outside the border waters. All the fishing is done in these waters. It is too shallow to fish close to the shore even if we were actually fishing. On radar, we will be seen. The Coast Guard will investigate. It will all be lost. We go to prison; you lose the boats and all the property that you own. We lose everything. I cannot agree to this!"

"Carlos, we have no choice. Even at minimum flight distance, the drones don't have enough battery power to fly many trips. There must be many short trips. I cannot wait for hours and days for everything to be delivered."

"Maybe you should tell your buyers the shipment cannot be produced at one time."

"You don't know these guys. They only think about their own risk coming to get the stuff. They want it all at once and quick. Besides, I can't store it for days at my house, and you don't want it on the boat for days either. No, we must deliver it all in one night. Even then, I'm taking a big risk. I can't park more than a few minutes in one place."

"Johnny, I'm telling you. We will get caught on this boat if we come so close to the shore. We have no reason to be there. There are no shrimp there."

Jagneaux placed a hand on his partner's shoulder. "I hear what you say, my friend. I have some days to decide. I will think of something. You don't worry now. I will come back in a few days with my plan."

Carlos didn't usually doubt Jagneaux, but this was a now a truly dangerous situation. They could spend the rest of their lives in a US prison. "Johnny, I don't know. I will listen, but I cannot say yet that I will agree with you."

"My friend, it will be all right. Trust me. You will see when I return." He had no ideas at this point. Carlos was right, they could both go to prison for life, if they were even alive.

Going Home

"See, I told you that you liked me." Nicky was the imp again. She had a perky little smile and knew how to make a man desire her. She'd had years of practice from school.

Taylor blushed, she was right. He couldn't help himself. There was something fresh and unassuming about her, but he also knew that she could be hurt easily. She trusted too much on intuition and shared her emotions openly. He'd never met a woman like her before. But he had a conflict. Mike, Junior had entered his life at the same time as Nicky. Maybe Sarah had come into it as well. He tried to avoid thinking about them around Nicky. He'd destroyed any relationship with Sarah once before, and she wasn't interested in salvaging feelings abandoned a dozen years ago. When they'd been together on the beach last weekend, he'd felt an attraction to her that he'd had in dreams. He reminded himself that she was moving in with another man. Taylor wouldn't do anything to hurt her again. He'd shattered her future once before and wouldn't do it again. Sarah had something good happening in her life, for once, and Taylor would do anything to help her ... but, what about Nicky?

She was right, he did like her. Maybe even loved her; he hadn't had any real experience with loving a woman. Nicky understood her feelings; she'd been in love before. And she knew more about Taylor's mind than he did.

"Ah, yeah, I think you're on to something." He had his hands on her hips as she faced him.

He half expected her to lean and kiss him, but instead, she decoupled, saying, "Good, let's take Amanda's car away, and then come back here and have sex." She giggled at his glazed expression. She got him!

That night, true to her pronouncement, they were together in his bedroom. There, he only had thoughts of her; nobody else could intrude. They were wonderful together. Both were caring people who'd been through a common experience that neither could have expected just three weeks earlier. They'd bonded. That night, their emotions seized control, and they shared his bed. There was passionate lovemaking. It was amazing to Taylor; he'd never felt so connected to another person before.

In the morning, she woke before him and made coffee. The smell alerted him. He'd never awakened to it in his apartment before. He'd always been up, making it for himself.

She crawled onto the bed wearing his brown robe, which wasn't a particularly flattering color, but it did match her hair. "Hey, how are you this morning?"

He smiled and pulled her close. "I haven't slept this well since ... I don't remember ever sleeping like this."

She smiled back and snuggled beside him. "Better than a teddy bear?"

"Um ... teddy can't do the things you do."

She giggled briefly, and then became more serious. "After we have breakfast, I need to make plans to go home. I've been gone too long and ... well, I can't stay any longer. It's best if I leave now before I start to speak with a drawl."

"Will you come back?"

She laid back and looked at the ceiling. "I don't know, probably not. Nothing personal, mind you, but this isn't my home. My roots are in Maine with my family. Millie's there, and I've been gone way too long. But, would you come visit me?"

"I'd like that. I never knew a Yankee girl before. Besides, I might like to come in the winter with you as my bed warmer."

"Really, Taylor, would you really ever come to Maine? You know, it's different there. I have my parents, my job, and my baby. It wouldn't be the same. This place has a weird affect; I don't feel like the same person down here. You might not like me in my own element."

"I'd like you anywhere -- the middle of a desert or the South Pole -- it wouldn't matter."

"I have Millie; she's the most important person in the world to me. It used to be Amanda, but that changed when Millie came to me. Does she spoil your fantasy?"

He looked at her and paused. "I'd like to meet Millie."

"Don't play with me, Mike. I need you to be honest. I haven't been with a man since my divorce and really don't need another broken relationship. I live for my daughter, and that's good enough. If you're just looking for a quick lay, I'm not your girl. I've been hurt enough and don't want to go there again."

"Nicky, I don't know where this is going, but I really do like you. I'd like to know you better -- everything about you. I really would like to meet Millie. I'd like to see where you come from and meet your parents. I'm a southern boy. You know that. To me, it's more than geography; it's the culture I come from. I don't know if we could ever be compatible, but I'd like to try."

"I know, Mike. I want to see if it would work out. Anyway, one more quickie, then you can cook breakfast. I'm starving."

Covert

The Drug Enforcement Agency's (DEA) Special Operations Division, SOD, is comprised of several hundred people headquartered in a classified Virginia location. Its mission is to fight the Latin American drug cartels on their home turf, concentrating on drug dealers, money launderers and related criminals. Their operations are classified, often using agents from many partner agencies, including the FBI, CIA, NSA, IRS, and the Department of Homeland Security.

The SOD claims to use legal means, which is often disputed but difficult to prove otherwise. Within the SOD is a super-secret Foreign-Deployed Advisory and Support Team (FAST). They conduct counter-drug and counter-terrorist actions in the US and foreign countries. The FAST team can deploy rapidly and bring enormous firepower and tactical skill to eliminate narcotics kingpins, factories, or terrorist leaders. FAST also uses resources from the US Special Operations Command.

This operation had been in process for years. The focus was initially on infiltrating the Drug Kingpin, Estevan (Little Stevie) Moreno's production organization in Columbia with the ultimate goal of destroying it. Moreno's was the largest and most ruthless Cartel in Columbia. It took time to infiltrate with DEA people, native to the area, and to convert other people to become spies inside. It was dangerous work since the Cartel was always alert to DEA methods and had only one way of dealing with law enforcement. They killed everyone with extreme prejudice, preferring to torture victims as deterrents. The Cartel "owned" local law, operating without fear of capture. The operation had been well underway when Johnny Jagneaux started looking for South American contacts to supply Cocaine and other drugs produced and smuggled through South America. This led to his introduction to Domingo (Dom) Rodriquez, through Jagneaux's partner, Carlos. Dom became known to them only as the BIG MAN, but was, in reality, the Special Agent running the Moreno Mission.

Jagneaux became an added element to the mission with his connection to the crips in New Orleans, which was a major eastward expansion of the Los Angeles gang also targeted by the DEA. He would become an unwitting participant in the larger mission.

On the South American side of the equation, the Cartel saw Dom as a broker for their trade into the USA. Like any large-scale international trade scheme, brokers offered the most efficient way to locate domestic distributors. Dom had set up other channels like Jagneaux's. The Cartel didn't trust Dom beyond the money he provided, but he was becoming increasingly familiar with their internal operations over time. He had had several meetings involving Moreno himself, which had led to other introductions and an understanding of the entire organization's structure. Of course, this meant grave risk for Dom and the other agents he'd brought into the Cartel business. None of the DEA agents on Dom's team had been compromised yet, but it was riskier with each deal. Prior DEA missions had gone badly and Dom was planning to extricate his team soon, letting their FAST team destroy the Cartel. This would require Columbian government cooperation, following severe diplomatic pressure. Dom wasn't ready yet to uncover his identity or operating methods to the US Congress, but it could happen soon.

First, they would bring down the crips in New Orleans. Jagneaux's big deal was the key. The main gang members would come when the large money transfer took place. The DEA had tracked Jagneaux's movements from the other transfers at an abandoned plantation in the Delta. The location was surrounded by swamp and could be isolated on land and water. The planning for the mission to capture the crips was set in motion when the big order was placed.

Carlos continued to worry about cruising near the Delta shallows for hours. So many things could go wrong and he and his crew were risking everything. Now he had another worry. "Johnny, there is a storm in the Caribbean that could be a problem. If it comes close, I must take the boat back to Caracas. I cannot go into a Louisiana port with our 'catch'." They were talking on an open CB channel.

Jagneaux understood the "Catch" meant their big shipment. "Carlos, I know about it. Watch it close."

"Watch it close? Johnny, I am to be at sea tomorrow for the shipment. It is not safe!"

"Carlos, call the Big Man and see what he advises. I can then tell the buyers if we need to change things. They will not like a delay, but we can't control the weather."

"Okay, Johnny, but I do not like this. If it is too rough on the ocean, I will stay in Caracas with the catch."

This would be very risky if the DEA were to discover the shipment and have the Venezuelan authorities seize the ship. "Carlos, call the Big Man and tell him. I can't tell you to do one thing or another. The Big Man and my customers are powerful."

Jagneaux now had something else to worry about, the storm. His simple operation had worked so well, so many times. All the shipments had gone perfectly, making him wealthy very quickly. Now it all seemed to be vanishing around him, starting with killing the park Ranger. Now he had a Cartel and a drug gang circling him, ready to kill without mercy. His head hurt, and he poured another tumbler of bourbon.

Returned

Nicky was on her way. Taylor had taken her to the airport using an indirect route watching

To see if they were followed. Nobody had been behind them. He'd kissed her goodbye at the security checkpoint. She left him bewildered. He'd promised to come visit her within a month after he could coordinate work schedules at the Sheriff's office.

On the drive back to the office, he felt a void that hadn't existed before he met her. She'd had a deeper impact on him than he would ever have imagined. When she walked away from him, it hit him. He didn't want her to go. At the same time, while driving, he realized that she could never live in Louisiana. She would never want to raise Millie here, so far away from her grandparents. If they were ever going to be together, permanently, he would need to move north. At that instant, not thinking about anything or anyone else, he felt ready. He'd met a few northerners in the military and got along well anywhere. He knew that much. He could move north with no reservations. He didn't have any real roots. He'd been raised here, but his father had essentially kicked him out when he was fifteen. Taylor didn't have family ties any longer. He'd come back only because he didn't consider other options. Nicky had changed that. He wanted to be with her now and could leave the South without ever looking back.

But then he thought about his son. Mike, Jr. was now part of his life. He'd come into it at the same time as Nicky. Blood conquers all, but this was different. He could love his son and Nicky both. The conflict came with Sarah, Mike, Jr's mother. He had to consider her situation. She lived on the Texas Gulf Coast and would be with Owen. Mike, Jr. needed to be near his mother. Taylor knew other men who didn't give a damn about jerking their kids away or moving where they'd never see them again. He couldn't be one of them. He'd abandoned his son years ago and was just beginning to re-enter his life. He'd only known him a short time, but he already loved the boy and could never be far away again.

Talking to Sarah about Nicky would be a problem. If she thought Taylor was thinking of moving away, it would destroy her plans and he'd never see his son again. She had one shot at a decent life with Owen, but she wouldn't if it meant losing her son. Mike, Jr. could be with his father in Louisiana, and they could see each other frequently, but not if he was in Maine. Taylor had caused Sarah to live in near-poverty, alone, raising their child without any help from him. It wasn't really his fault, but he couldn't deny his role, bringing a child into the world. How could he become Mike, Jr's father, give Sarah back a life she deserved, and be with Nicky and Millie? Life had been unfair to them all in some way and now it might hurt someone again.

He was driving twice the posted speed limit before he realized it and eased off. He was upset and mad. It wasn't fair. He was tempted to stop at a small seedy bar on the outskirts of town, but realized this wasn't something to bury in drink. He needed a rational plan.

His apartment had always been his refuge, his man cave. Now, without Nicky, it just seemed like a lifeless box. She'd changed his whole sense of being. He now wanted more of life, a chance to have a family, things that had never been important to him before. But as a family came to mind, he realized he had a son. His son would play sports with him, and they would work on his trucks together. They would go fishing or flying. He would take his son to the beach and play in the surf. Then there was Nicky's daughter. She would be fun to play with, too. He could see a family picture with him, Nicky, Mike, Jr. and Millie, all together and happy. But that could never happen. Sarah was more part of Mikey's life than Taylor. He could never take Mike, Jr. away from his mother. He was trying to think of something else when his phone range.

"Hello."

"Hey, Mike, it's Sarah. Can we talk?"

"Sure."

"I was wondering if you were coming back here soon."

"Yeah, actually, I was hoping to come on Wednesday, my day off, if it's all right?" He realized how much he enjoyed talking to her. He needed to talk to someone, and she was perfect.

He continued. "Sarah, I was wondering if we could have some time to talk alone when I come."

"Sure. What about? I can switch days with another girl, and Mikey will be in school most of the day. He's in the fifth grade now and real excited."

He wasn't sure yet how to frame his questions to her. He just knew he needed to talk. He'd spent so many days with Nicky, but now he needed to talk to Sarah. But how could he talk to her about Nicky? "I don't know, exactly. I just feel like we should catch up. I wanna know more about what you've done since ... well, since I went away."

"There really isn't much more than I already told you."

"Sarah, I don't know what I want to know. I just know it's about you and Mikey. I think you and I should know each other better. We're adults now, but we're strangers. I want that to change. We share a son. At least, I'd like to share him. I don't have any right to claim him, but I'd like to earn that right."

She was silent for a moment. "Mike, I don't know what you're trying to say, but I've thought about you; I've thought a lot, and I want to get to know you more. After all, I asked you to take our son, and that's not easy for me."

"Okay, we'll go somewhere, maybe to the beach and have lunch by the ocean."

"That would be nice. We gotta watch the weather though. There's a storm that looks like it could come into the Gulf from the Atlantic. If that happens, it might not be a nice day on the beach."

"Yeah, I'll keep an eye out, but it's been a lotta years since anything hit Corpus Christi hard, so let's just figure it'll go somewhere else."

"Okay, it's a date then." She didn't know whether to smile or be depressed. She could sense that Taylor had something serious on his mind. She knew it wasn't about her. They barely knew each other.

Father

Taylor was on duty the following morning, delivering a court summons to a resident when his phone rang.

He didn't like talking on his cell phone while driving, particularly while in a patrol car. He pressed the button by feel, without looking. "Hello."

"Michael, it's your father."

"Ah, yessir, how are you, sir?" It had been almost a year since he'd talked to the farmer. It was odd to call in the morning since the farm chores kept him busy until noon. His father then napped after lunch and awoke to continue working in mid-afternoon. Any call during the day was out of cycle for the old man.

"Well, I'm just fine, son. It's good of you to ask."

"Your mother and I was talkin' and want you to come here."

Taylor had visited them once when returning from military duty, just before reporting to his new job with the Cameron Sheriff. He hadn't been back since, even though it was only a three-hour drive. "When do you want me there, Daddy?"

"Well, son, as soon as possible."

"Okay, well, I can't come on my day off, but I could drive up after work. I get off at two o'clock and could drive up for supper. I'd have to leave again before eight."

"That would be fine, son. How about you come here today, and I'll have your mother put on a brisket. We just slaughtered a steer."

"Okay, daddy, see you then."

Taylor wondered what it was all about, although he could guess. He never socialized with his father, which also meant he never saw his mother. He'd never forgiven the old man for sending him away. After high school and Jr. College, he'd only been at home a few days before leaving on the military bus for boot camp. He'd worked with the recruiter to speed the process so that he'd spend minimal time at home. Back then, he hated his father. He'd sent him away, just like sending him to prison. They seldom saw each other after that. He didn't want to see them now, but figured it needed to happen.

Elroy Taylor was born on the farm he owned. It was the family farm, owned by his father and grandfather Taylor before him. Except for two years away in the Army during the Vietnam War, when he was drafted, Elroy had never been away from Beaumont, Texas. He'd seen a little of the country when training in the Army, but it didn't interest him. Neither did the men he'd met in the service. Unlike other soldiers of his generation, he never left the States. He'd been assigned as a cook because he knew something about food stocks. He was posted to Ft. Irwin, Texas, and never deployed or transferred after that.

Ft. Irwin, near El Paso, was nothing like Beaumont. It was Texas but nothing like the southeastern part of the state. It was pure desert. Beaumont was more like Louisiana and Mississippi: green, humid, and often wet. It had good farmland and a port with access to the Gulf of Mexico. Around the turn of the century, oil was discovered and Beaumont prospered along with all the oilfields around Houston. The Taylor farm did well, by small-time farm standards, and Elroy's father never let his son think about any other career than running the farm. After the military, Elroy returned home and continued working the farm with his father through the middle 1970's when the old man was too crippled with arthritis to work anymore. At that point, Elroy worked it by himself, supporting his father and mother until they died. His father never saw the collapse of the oil industry, which led to regional recession. Working alone, Elroy had planned to add some modern machinery, but the dream was never realized. Instead, he wore out the basic equipment after years and years without proper maintenance. By the time his son, Michael, was a teenager, the family barely survived.

Elroy had married Fern Rothe after his Army service, a neighbor farm girl. At the time, in the early 1970's, the future of the farm looked assured. Only there weren't many more good years. After more than a decade of trying to get pregnant, Michael was born after the economy had collapsed. In the 70's, Elroy had contracted with Standard Oil for wells on the farm property, but by the time Michael was five, the market and the pumps had been idle, never producing a cent of revenue.

Elroy knew farming and nothing else. They'd always assumed that farming was all he would ever need to know, and his father could teach him everything necessary about growing rice. But technology advanced, and Elroy lacked knowledge of the newer techniques -- and the lack of capital for equipment doomed the farm. Michael was still assumed to follow his father's path –at least assumed by Elroy -- but he neglected to instill the notion in his son as his father had done with him. He'd assumed too much. He was a "do as I say" person, not a motivator. Fern was a non-element in Michael's life. She'd been unhappy with her lack of choices for marriage and the experience had been even worse. She and Elroy had no real compatibility, yet he never realized it. He lived in his own private world creating an illusion of living well that only he appreciated.

He never understood Michael's decision to go to Jr. College. Michael had worked away from the farm to pay his own way. He'd said that he hated the farm, and he hated his father for sending him away after the "Chase incident." After one year at school and with no real sense of direction except to avoid the farm, Michael joined the Army as a way of escaping his father's clutches. He never returned.

Elroy had only one friend, Nathan Chase, his neighboring farmer. When their children got "into trouble," the farmers' solution to appease each other was to send both children away. Neither man inquired about where the other's child had gone. Both men were devout Methodists. Nathan was fanatical about his religion, common for farmers who depended on "God's good graces" to water their crops and keep prices up. Elroy and Nathan meant more to each other than their wives or children did ... a fact understood by all. Taylor hated the idea of seeing his father again. It could be a very short visit.

That evening when he drove onto their dirt drive, the farm looked more rundown and dilapidated than ever. His father was aging badly, like most small farmers, and all building and grounds maintenance was ignored. They'd always been a poor family, making a poverty income. But his father was a proud man and refused to consider any form of welfare. Neither of Taylor's parents had seen a dentist in years, except for painful tooth infections from rotting teeth. Those visits were fewer now that their teeth were mostly gone.

The house hadn't been painted in twenty years and seemed to tilt slightly. Taylor had grown up there through his mid-teens, but he still knocked.

His mother pulled the creaky old grey oak door open and threw her arms around him. Her eyes watered. "Oh, son, it's so good to have you home again."

He hugged her back, saying, "Momma, it's good to be here, but it's only for a few hours."

She released him, with tears still running. "I know, Michael, your father told me. I just wish it was better for you here, and you came around more. It's awful lonesome now."

"Mom, I haven't lived here for years."

She just smiled and left as Taylor's father approached. Taylor extended his hand, "How do you do, sir?"

"I'm just fine, son, but you sure stay away from here too much. What's the matter with you? How come you ain't more considerate of your old folks? We ain't gettin' any younger and could sure use seeing you more."

It still amazed Taylor that his parents, his father, never understood how devastating it had been to be thrown out to boarding school, away from Sarah. They'd never given one fig for his feelings, and now his father was trying to lay guilt on him for not visiting more often!

Before Taylor could say anything, his father added, "Let's go sit on the grass in the old rockers out back. Mother! Bring us some o' that good lemonade."

Taylor dutifully followed the old man, dressed in his weathered coveralls and with stringy, uncombed speckled hair. Before Michael had left for the Army, the old man had been a powerful figure, taller and stockier than his son. Now, he was wasted and walked hunched over. "I see you're limping pretty badly."

"Yeah, just some old age settin' in. Doc says I need a new hip. Can you imagine? Nowadays they just replace body parts."

"So, are you going to follow his advice?"

"Nope. God gave me my body, as it is, and I ain't about to let no doctors start cutting it all apart. Next thing you know, I'll be a cripple in bed, and your momma won't have a choice but to take the shotgun to me to end the pain and payments."

They sat down outside with a cool glass of overly-sweet lemonade. Taylor had smelled the brisket passing through the kitchen. "So, Daddy, sir, why the rush to get me up here? I know it's not just for a nice dinner."

After a long drink, his father said, "Ah, now that's mighty refreshin' ... but you know what's not refreshin'? It's meetin' Nathan Chase across the fence this mornin' and him tellin' me you been talkin' to his daughter."

So this is what it's all about ... suspicion confirmed. "Well, sir, not to be impolite, but it's really none of your business who I talk to. I've been managing my own affairs since I was fifteen; you saw to that, so I don't see any reason to share with you now."

"You don't need to be rude, son. I'm just watchin' out for you, as always. You need to stay away from that girl. She's trouble – always has been."

"I can take care of myself, sir. You don't need to worry about it."

"Well, ol' Nathan, he said you been over to see that girl and her boy. That's a worry to all of us. Nathan, he sees it that way, too. We was both in agreement when we split you two apart."

"Her name is Sarah. Her son, my son, is named Michael. I suppose you don't see the irony in that."

"She's been nothin' but trouble to you, son. You need to stay far away, you hear!"

"The only thing you two old clod-hoppers did was make life miserable for Sarah and me. If you want to know why I never come around, it's because I can't stand to see you. You threw me out. Sarah's parents did the same thing. Neither of us owes you anything, so don't you ever try to lecture me again."

"Well, you ungrateful ... we gave you everything, starting with your life. I'm your father and you will respect that."

"Look at me, old man. You damaged two people, you and your buddy Chase. I'll say this one more time ... stay out of my life!"

The farmer started to rise. "Why you worthless ..."

"Bye, Daddy." Taylor walked away while the old man struggled to rise, watching in disbelief, unable to keep stride and unable to think about what to say before his son disappeared though the creaky screen door into the kitchen.

Taylor placed his full glass on the chipped Formica counter and kissed his mother on her tear streaked cheek. She'd heard them talking. "Aren't you staying for supper?" She pleaded.

He recognized her grief; he knew a bit more about parental love, having met his own son. He hugged her. "I'm sorry, Mother. I love you but have to leave now. I don't want to say anything more that will just make it worse. That old son-of-a-bitch will never understand."

He paused, "I hope to see you again someday." He knew it was a crushing statement, but figured, in truth, that the next time he'd see either of them would be at a funeral.

On the drive back, he could imagine Sarah having a similar discussion with her father.

Storm

The next day was Tuesday. Jagneaux had tried to motor out to the fishing boat, but the sea was too rough. They talked on the CB radio. "Carlos, where are you?"

"Barramquilla, Columbia. Your catch is being delivered tonight."

"What about the storm, it looks worse? They gave it a name, Gasper."

"I don't want this, Johnny. It could get bad."
"Look, Carlos, the weather people say it will hit the tip of Florida and turn up the coast. It will be inland over north Florida and Georgia and never hit the gulf by us." Both of them knew there were other forecasts showing the storm moving inside the Gulf and gaining hurricane strength over warmer water.

"The Big Man, he say we gotta go, that you made all the arrangements up there."

"I made them, Carlos, our customer will be waiting. I tried, like you, to delay, but they said there is high demand for our fish and their supplies are low."

"Johnny, just so you know, I'm not going to be alone if this goes bad. Everyone's going to know about Johnny J if ... you know the rest." It was an open radio line, and Carlos didn't want to provide any further evidence if the cops were listening.

The shipment arrived at dockside minutes later, and the crew started stacking the blocks in the fish hold. It was a huge amount and they were working in daylight, clear for anyone to observe. In the past, one quick pallet load had gone aboard in less than a minute. This was taking way too long. Carlos yelled in Spanish, "Pronto, pronto!"

Jagneaux was getting drunker. He was terrified of everything. The ship could sink in rough seas. He didn't know if the drones could fly in the wind; they only had a top speed of 40 MPH. If they could fly, would they have enough battery life for a round trip? This was crazy!

If the storm never developed or didn't hit their coast, it might not be a problem. There were many ways things could go badly, but it might also be okay. They were gambling with more than ten million dollars. Could he even trust the crips? It was a horrifying thought. The bangers all looked like zombies to him. Who would trust them with that much cash? How much does ten million weigh?

Too much could go wrong tonight.

Taylor was back at his apartment much earlier than planned. He felt good about the break with his father. He'd finally said things that were festering between them. His father might die and never forgive him, but Taylor could care less. At least the old man knew how he felt and why. It was his entire fault, and Taylor wasn't in a forgiving mood. He was thinking about Sarah and his son -- how they had been forced to live because two old farmers wanted to control their lives. His phone rang. It wasn't his father. "Hey, Sarah."

"Hi, Mike." She didn't say more for several seconds.

"Are you all right?" He sensed something wrong.

"Mikey's asleep. I needed to talk to you."

Taylor sat with his first beer of the night. "Sure, what's up?"

"Maybe you shouldn't come tomorrow."

"Why? What's changed?"

"My daddy called. I screamed at him. He said some horrible things about me and Mikey ... and you."

"I know. I met with my old man today. He and your father had a talk. It seems like your father knew about me coming to see you."

"I told my mother last night. I didn't know ... I mean, Mike, I thought they would be happy for me. We don't talk much, and daddy says he wishes they could help more. They don't wanna help. They only want me and Mikey to move back with them and take care of the farm. They don't love me. They don't even love our little boy. How can you not love him! They just think we're useless and should be their slaves."

"So, why shouldn't I come?"

"Oh, Mike. It'd just make things worse for you and me. Momma sends me some money, a hundred dollars every other month or so. It's not much, but it's something. He said he'd make sure momma didn't have any money except what he gives her for their needs, nothing for me. He won't let her send anything now."

"Sarah, it'll be allright. You, we, don't need them. I told my father that today and it felt good. It feels better just thinking about it. I want you to feel the same way. I want to pay something for child support until things straighten out. I owe you and Mike, Jr. that much – at least."

"It's hard for me, Mike. They sent me away like I had some kinda disease. They've never seen my baby. They don't really want him. I never visit them – I'm all alone..."

He heard her sobbing. "Look, Sarah, you and I are talking now. That's all that's important. You have a chance to have a normal life, so take it. If I can help you, then thats the most important thing for me right now. We don't need anyone's permission, least of all the people that drove us apart. Trust me, it feels good to tell 'em off."

She finally agreed that he could come. It gave her strength talking to him. From the time she'd been exiled by her parents, she'd been sermonized by her aunt, feeling she must suffer for her sins. Her aunt was a "bible-thumper" who crippled the girl through verbal abuse. Her parents were just as bad. They had only communicated indirectly through her aunt. Her mother probably suffered emotionally, losing her only daughter, but her father was a zealot and unbending. Sarah was a whore to him and could never be forgiven. Taylor's father wasn't particularly religious, but he valued his neighbor's friendship, greatly.

Elsewhere, the tropical storm was originally in the Caribbean Sea, then crossed over Cuba with strong wind and rain. It caused deadly flooding, with five fatalities. As it entered the Gulf of Mexico, it intensifyed to a Category 3 hurricane. Storm surge and swells lashed the west coast of Florida. It seemed to weaken after encountering the coast, but veered west unpredictably, strengthening again. During the night, in Louisiana, storm-driven tides began causing minor coastal flooding.

Cursed

Taylor was in bed at midnight, unable to sleep with two women and a son on his mind. Conflicting emotions swirled. Windblown rain pelted the windows like a thousand fingers tapping in some random rhythm. The weather had grown worse, slowly and persistently, not like their typical late-summer storms which were intense but short. This was growing stronger gradually, just as the weather forecasters were now predicting. It wasn't expected to hit Louisiana directly, but there would be peripheral weather events, including tornados. The fog in his mind was interrupted by a faint beeping sound from his computer. The park alarm.

He rose expecting to reset the alarm, thinking the storm had falsely triggered the sensors. But as he watched the video, he could see the tail lights of a vehicle through the rain-smeared lenses. Looking more closely at the cameras, he could also see that the swamp had risen closer to the edge of the levee road. What idiot was driving in the park tonight? He really didn't want to investigate on a night like this.

Jagneaux was shaking, gripping the steering wheel, barely able to see the way as tide-driven swamp water covered the levee. He was mad and scared. Everything was wrong. Tonight would be a disaster. It might even be deadly if he couldn't deliver the whole quantity. The gang might kill him if the shipment was too small, and the Cartel might kill him if he didn't have the cash for the whole amount they'd supplied to Carlos. Either scenario was likely on a night like this. It was pure idiocy to try delivering tonight. The Big Man had insisted that the storm was "perfect cover." It was bullshit. They'd probably lose the drones in this weather. Carlos would probably lose the fishing boat in the storm. It could sink or the Coast Guard could seize it with the cargo and they'd all go to prison. Carlos would confess everything if it meant a lighter sentence. The gang and cartel could still kill him in prison. The Big Man had said the stormy sea would hide the boat from radar. It was bullshit, but it didn't matter, there were a hundred other ways to fail tonight.

A short distance inside the park, Jagneaux decided to check the GPS for the first delivery, not expecting anything, but he checked anyway. He had driven up and down the highway, convinced that nobody was anywhere near the area. After nearly being killed by that crazy bitch, he was armed this time.

His car was buffeted by the wind and rain blanketed his view. He could see nothing but black. If the drones managed to fight their way through the torrent, he'd never hear them. His only way to know if the shipment arrived was to check the phone app and check to see what was the road. Hell, the wind would probably cause the drop to miss the road. It was insanity.

On the highway, Taylor drove slowly, searching for the park's rear entrance in the deluge. His wipers sloshed water at full speed. There it is! He pulled to the side of the highway. It would be foolish to drive down the narrow levee with headlights. He would walk in.

Jagneaux stepped out of the car with water sloshing around his shoes. He panned the flashlight left and right on either side, trying to avoid stepping off the road. He cursed, expecting a gator attack or a snake bite with each step. After a hundred yards, there was nothing on the road so he turned back, shielding the rain from his eyes, walking cautiously, checking the road ahead with each step as the water rose. If he stayed there all night waiting for the deliveries that would never come, he could drown. He had tried to reach Carlos on the CB radio before leaving the car, but static and rain noise made communications impossible. He slogged forward, bracing against the wind. He didn't see Taylor standing behind his car.

Taylor stepped out with his gun drawn as Jagneaux reached for the door handle. "Stop there! Show me your hands."

Jagneaux was startled and didn't react immediately. He was going to die – he knew it. Someone, the gang or the Cartel was there. It took him a moment to realize that he hadn't, in fact, already been shot. The person yelling at him was some kind of cop or park Ranger. He couldn't see well. He'd pissed his pants, but no one would notice. He was soaked through. Taylor repeated his command, stepping closer to emphasize his weapon. "Against the car -- now!"

Jagneaux did as instructed. He carried the flashlight in his right hand. He was scared, but lucid enough to talk. "What is this ... who are you?"

"Cameron Sheriff's Office." Without waiting for a response, Taylor started patting for weapons with his free hand. He found the Glock tucked in Jagneaux's belt, behind his back. He also found a wallet and pulled it out, verifying Jagneaux's identity. Jagneaux hadn't yet recognized the same Deputy who had come to his house. He hadn't had a good look at Taylor yet.

"What's this about, Sheriff? I haven't done anything. This isn't even your beat, it's federal."

"Let's just say I saw someone suspicious in the Parish and followed. In the storm, I kinda lost my bearings. Now, I'll ask again, what are you doing here?" He pressed the gun against Jagneaux's neck and could feel a racing pulse, radiating through it. Taylor was tempted to pull the trigger and leave the body for the swamp creatures. Jagneaux had almost killed Nicky. He'd admitted killing Amanda to Nicky. None of it was evidence for court, but Taylor had everything he needed to convict the guy in the Court of No Mercy. He hesitated. He wasn't a killer and didn't want to let the scumbag loose, but there wasn't anything he could do within the law. He also knew something suspicious was going down in the park, but there was nothing happening yet. He pushed Jagneaux away.

Before either of them could say anything more, someone behind Taylor yelled, "Back off Deputy. Be very careful what you do next."

Taylor raised his hands slowly and turned, facing two men in dark wet raincoats. Neither man showed a weapon, but he recognized his "friends" from the DEA. He said, "What the hell is going on here?"

"It's none of your concern, Deputy."

Taylor was starting to understand the meaning of a "special operation" by the DEA. He looked back at Jagneaux, who had a blank look on his face, as though he didn't understand any of this. The lead suit said, "Just get out of here and don't look back."

Taylor hesitated, then holstered his gun. He glanced at Jagneaux one last time and brushed past the two agents, thrusting the Glock into one's gut, heading back toward the entrance. The feds had taken charge and Jagneaux seemed scared as hell. Whatever happened next, he knew where the man lived – this wasn't over for Jagneaux.

Taylor was back in his apartment by one o'clock, barely aware of driving back through the storm. He could only think about what had happened in the park. Nothing made sense tonight, but he had to sleep a few more hours before driving to Corpus. He hadn't heard the weather forecast for the Texas coast.

He couldn't sleep, and finally got up again at three o'clock to start driving. Under normal circumstances, he would have arrived in town by Sarah's trailer in five hours. Only, it wasn't a normal day and driving was worse than the night before had been. The radio report said the hurricane was tracking toward Texas. He tried to drive faster, but the wet highway and standing water made it treacherous. He averaged less than 40 MPH. He tried calling Sarah, but there was no connection through the cellular grid.

Early that morning, Gasper had made landfall near Corpus Christi as a Category 4 storm. The radio report from the National Weather Service said that it had "maintained strength for an unusually long time." Boats had blown ashore and severe damage was being reported around Corpus with more than 1,000 homes destroyed, but it was impossible to know the full extent of damage as it was occurring. People were known dead, but nobody had an accurate count yet. Numerous tornados had touched down.

By ten o'clock that morning, Taylor was still more than an hour away. He was tired from fighting the road conditions and needed a break, but he couldn't stop. Sarah and Mike, Jr. were in danger. He hoped they were somewhere safe. Her trailer was a death trap. It couldn't withstand flooding and would disintegrate in high wind. It was blowing over 100 MPH according to the radio reports. He needed to get to them. The radio reported wind gusts as high as 160 mph at the Corpus Christi Weather Bureau Office. Older oil derricks designed to withstand 175 MPH winds, had been knocked down anyway. Lightening damaged oil refinery tanks, causing massive fires. Twelve inches of rain and tides several feet higher than normal were flooding the entire coastal area.

When he reached the outskirts of town, he was still two miles away from Sarah's trailer, driving at idle speed through axle-deep water. Occasional street signs were his only reference. The storm water was black from debris and no road lines or curbs were visible. Wind rocked his truck and a flying board hit the front fender hard enough to crush it, but the tires were still okay. The main storm surge had passed, but winds continued with gusts to 50 MPH and rain fell in torrents. The water was rising. He was a mile from Sarah's place when the water reached his door sills and he had to stop. Passenger cars were already submerged or floating.

Taylor jumped out and began walking as fast as possible in the knee-deep water. Rescue workers were everywhere, some walking, and some floating in power boats, canoes, duck boats, or anything else that could float. Fire engines drove farther into the flooded area than Taylor had, but only slightly. Debris was everywhere, parts of people's homes had to be pushed aside to move through the mess. He stumbled several times over submerged objects.

Fear overtook him as he entered the trailer park. It was unrecognizable. He silently prayed they weren't there. No trailers were standing. Some were on their sides. Some were crushed and some were completely disintegrated. He stopped to get his bearings. There were no street markings. Nothing was in place. He had a general idea where her place had been located, but there was no way to know for sure. He moved in the direction as he remembered it without references. People were moving about, trying to salvage things. Emergency responders were still occupied at the entrance to the park, moving from trailer to trailer. It would take days to find all the injured and dead. Taylor only had one trailer in mind. He had to find Sarah and Mike, Jr.

He waded on through the flood, pushing around trailer pieces and people, coming to the spot where he estimated her's to be. The area was covered with the blue side and roof section of someone else's trailer, not Sarah's. A short distance beyond, he saw a white and brown trailer on its side, partially submerged. The colors were right. The front flower box was still attached. It was Sarah's. His emotions hit like a brick. He had feared for them: now it was real. "Sarah!"

He pushed through waist-deep rising muck. Her trailer was lying flat on its side with the front window almost half submerged. The doors along the side were now crushed on the bottom. "Sarah, Mike, are you in there?"

Wind and rain noise, and people shouting, prevented him hearing anything. He had to get inside but there were no doors on the left (now top) side. He tried breaking the window, kicking as hard as he could, but the depth of water gave no leverage. He fell back, fully submerged, swallowing a mouthful of foul water. He jumped up and leaned against the trailer, using his knee to hit the window, but there was still no leverage in the water. He looked around and felt with his feet under the water for anything that could be used to break the window. He grabbed one of Sarah's large clay flower pots and swung with all his strength at the upper part of the glass, which fractured, but didn't break free. The pot had disintegrated, cutting his hand. Oblivious to the pain and blood, Taylor grabbed a second pot and swung hard again, enlarging the cracks in the safety glass.

He jumped upward using the flower box as a step, grabbing the top edge, pulling his legs free of the water. He kicked the weakened glass until it broke free of its seals. Several more kicks and he was able to create space to crawl inside. The interior was now flooded with floating furniture blocking his view further inside. "Sarah! Mikey! Where are you? Are you there?"

He pushed through debris, toward the back where the bedroom was located. It became more difficult at the middle where a hallway wall and the bathroom door blocked the bedroom located in the rear. The bathroom door was now horizontal and only inches above the rising water. Taylor jumped up and started crawling toward the back when he heard something under the door. The trailer had torqued when blown off its foundation, and the interior doors were jammed. He tried to lift the door, but it wouldn't budge.

He slid off the side back into the kitchen area, looking for anything that would work as a lever. It was growing darker as the clouds got even denser and the rain increased. It pounded above him, leaking through all the windows and crevices that were now on top. It was hard to see inside. He felt around and found a drawer askew in the cabinets crushed beneath him. There was a large kitchen knife.

Using the knife as a crowbar, Taylor sprung the door open enough to pull it up. The sight inside the bathroom terrified him. Mike, Jr. was struggling to keep his mother's head above the water, but there was only eight inches of air space left. The boy was standing on something unseen in the dark with only his head and shoulders above water. Her head lay back with her eyes closed and only her face above the water. "Momma! Momma! Mike, you got to save her. Momma!"

Sarah wasn't moving, and there was barely enough room for Taylor to squeeze down with them inside. "Mikey, get out of here, I'll take her." Taylor lifted the boy out of the door opening, resting him on the wall above the water. He held Sarah's head above the water, but could tell her body was pinned by something below. It was too dark in the space to see much, but it looked like there was a red smear on the surface. He couldn't tell if she was breathing, but she had a weak pulse.

"Sarah, can you hear me? Talk to me. Where are you stuck?"

She didn't respond. So, Taylor felt below his feet with one hand while supporting her head above the water. The remnants of the bathroom fixtures seemed to be piled on top of her.

Mike Jr. yelled above the rain noise. "Mike, you gotta save my momma! Please save her, she protected me, she got me in the bathtub, she pushed me up in the water. Don't let her die, Mike!"

Taylor looked at his son quickly, "Mike you need to stay right there. I'll get her, but you need to be calm right now." He struggled against the corner of something heavy, pulling it off. Sarah moaned.

"Sarah, can you hear me? Come on, Honey, you gotta stay with me."

Her eyes opened slightly. "Mikey, where's Mikey!"

"He's okay, Sarah."

"I'm right here, Momma!" Mikey reached down trying to help pull her up, but she was still wedged beneath something.

The water had risen another inch and she could barely keep her mouth and nose above water. She was going to drown and she knew it. She recognized Taylor and said calmly, "Mike ... Mike, stop. You gotta get Mikey out of here. You need to save our son!"

"I'm not leaving you!"

"Mike, listen to me. You can't stay here, you gotta save Mikey. I don't matter, but you can't let him get killed by this. Please ... please, just take him and get out of here."

Taylor didn't listen. He couldn't hear her anymore. He couldn't hear anything. Adrenalin flooded inside him. Sarah had stopped trying to breath, she'd made her decision. He gave a last super-human tug at the object below, and it seemed like the whole space expanded. With his free hand he grabbed Sarah's shirt and jerked. She screamed in pain as he pushed her upward, through the doorframe. Mike, Jr. grabbed his mother and held her steady as Taylor shimmied out. "I got her, Mikey, let's go. You climb on my back. We're going out the window in front."

It took some maneuvering over things floating and submerged in the trailer. Taylor held Sarah in his arms and Mikey gripped around his neck. Somehow, he got them all through the narrow window frame. Once outside, Mike, Jr. could barely stand with his head above water. Taylor carried Sarah, now unconscious, telling his son, "Mikey, grab my belt and hang on, we got a ways to walk and you gotta hold on to me."

Taylor carried Sarah, not knowing if she was alive. She had a large gash in her abdomen, and he had no way to know how deep the wound could be. He just knew she needed to be at a hospital, fast. He pressed her against him, attempting to keep pressure on the wound, but the positioning was impossible. He yelled to the responders, and several told him where the nearest trauma center was located. He had no notion of time or the strain of carrying her. He had no sensations, she was weightless to him.

Hours later, he sat in the waiting room at the hospital, unaware of how long he'd been there ... not even sure how he got there. It had all been a blur, fighting through swollen floodwaters, emergency vehicles, and scores of injured people at the hospital. Sarah and Mike, Jr. had been taken away, and he just waited, with no word about either one. The scene at the hospital was pandemonium. Their well-being was out of his hands. He felt helpless. He couldn't save them now. It was up to other unseen medical people who didn't know them or love them. Love ... he did love them, it was crystal clear to him at that moment. But they might not even be alive! He buried his face in his hands, afraid of any news that might come.

Recovery

Somehow, through divine intervention or shear dumb luck, he'd gotten to the trauma hospital located less than a mile away. Some rescue workers had just pointed in a general direction before he laid Sarah gently into the back seat of his cab. He told Mikey to keep pressure on her wound as he navigated through the black water covering the roads, crashing through debris and smashing over submerged objects. He was ripping his new truck apart, but it held together.

He couldn't remember much else except the chaotic disaster with people screaming and everyone yelling for doctors at the hospital. He'd carried her through the emergency entrance and bullied his way through the crowds until staff people took her and Mikey through doors marked for "Authorized Personnel" only. He vaguely remembered answering some questions, but fatigue overtook him and he collapsed. It was blurred together in his mind, he couldn't remember much else. Hours later, it was dark outside, after sunset. He awoke, lying on the floor in a corner in a makeshift waiting area of the hospital, trying to remember what had happened to Sarah and Mikey. He was a mess, but nothing mattered except them.

Elsewhere, deep in the maze of corridors and curtains, Sarah woke, semi-conscious, lying in a strange bed with shiny steel rails on the side and bags of clear liquids hanging by her head. It seemed like a dream, and, at first, she didn't remember the storm. A monitor was quietly beeping beside her and she could see other beds like hers with other people she couldn't recognize. There was noise and people were moving at a frantic pace all around. She was nearly upright.

A nurse approached. "Hello, Miss Chase. It's good to see you awake."

"Ah, where am I? Why am I here?"

"Those are all good questions, missy. I'm glad you're so alert after all you went through. Anyway, you're at St. Joseph's Hospital here in Corpus. You were brought here during the storm with serious internal injuries and water in your lungs. You came very close to drowning."

"Where's my son!"

"He's all right. We have him on the pediatric ward for observation. The doctors want to be sure there's no lung problems or bacterial infections from all that dirty water you were in. It doesn't look like he got any in his lungs, so pneumonia isn't likely, but he's getting a minor antibiotic for anything else. He's awake and alert, asking about his momma."

She turned her head to cry. Her baby had been through so much before this, and now he'd nearly drowned. Why was life so cruel?

"When can I see him?"

"Well, that's up to the doctors, but I imagine they'll want him to see you soon. You've got to recover from major surgery, so you'll be here for a few days, at least. You're lucky to even be alive."

The nurse explained that "some man" brought her in when she was near death. He'd created quite a scene to get her attended to, but he'd saved her life doing it. The doctors didn't think she had a chance and nearly went on to other patients, but he'd threated them. If there had been any police or security people to call, he would have been arrested.

She had thought Mike was only a dream. "Where is he now? He's not locked up is he?"

"No, he settled down after you were wheeled in. He's probably stretched out somewhere. We're overrun with injured and family, so he's probably somewhere. I'll see if an orderly can find him."

She could feel the sutures in her stomach. She laid her head back, resting, trying to recall what had happened. Some time later, Taylor was by her side. His clothes were filthy and damp. The high humidity kept them wet, even hours after he'd gotten her there.

He smiled, "Hey, Sarah, you look great." He held her hand.

"I probably look terrible."

He smiled. "You're alive and beautiful to me. And, Mike, our son, is doing fine."

"Mike, I don't remember much. I thought Owen was coming to take us to his place inland, someplace safe. He said he would come hours before the storm. I waited and waited, but he never came. Then the wind and rain came \-- fast. The wind got really loud, like a tornado. I didn't know what to do. I grabbed Mikey and went into the bathroom, figuring it was the safest place. I don't remember anything much after that."

He sat with his elbows on the bed, still holding her hand. He told her the rest. Afterward, he asked, "So, what do you know about Owen? I mean really know."

"He's been nice to me. He sees me most at the diner and sometimes he takes me out to dinner, nothing fancy, just trying to be nice."

"What does he want in return?"

"Not much, I guess. He just says we'll live together, and he'll take care of me and maybe we'll get married after his divorce."

Taylor didn't want to say what he really thought of Owen. The guy was obviously taking advantage of a young destitute woman. She might as well have been a prostitute to him. He doubted that he was even getting a divorce. It was an old story.

"Look, Sarah, I don't want you living like this. You deserve better, and I don't think Owen is the right person for you."

"Mike, I know you saved me, me and Mikey. I can't even say what I think about you right now. I owe you everything, but ... but, I don't think it's your business about what's right for me and Owen."

"I wish you would let it be my business, Sarah."

She stared for several seconds. "What gives you the right?

"I don't know, maybe nothing. I just feel like you should be someone special to someone, someone who really cares about you."

"Look around, hero. You don't exactly see guys standing in line for a trailer babe and her bastard."

"I don't see you that way!"

"Well, guess what, it doesn't much matter how you see it; I live it every day. And, Owen is as good as they come in my world."

"You need to rest." He didn't want to irritate her. The doctor said she'd had some intestine and liver damage and was still in danger of infection. "I'll find a place to clean up and rest a bit, then I'll be back to see you two. Don't go anywhere."

She grimaced, "Very funny. Mike, ... thank you for saving Mikey and me. I didn't expect to be alive now. It's like a miracle that you came. I ... I ..."

"I know."

No Way Out

Jagneaux sat in the holding cell feeling lucky to be alive, but it didn't matter. He'd lost everything, but he could be dead. He was still a marked man. He didn't know what was happening. He was arrested last night on the levee. He hadn't done anything, but they'd arrested him anyway ... something about "conspiracy." He couldn't remember the rest. He just gave up without arguing -- his gig was over, no matter what else happened. He was sure that Carlos and the boat were lost and his drones were gone. The massive shipment was probably floating away or locked in the hold of the sunken fishing boat. The crips would now be gunning for him, and the Cartel wanted their money. He was safe alone behind bars for a while. It was the end of his road. He accepted it.

Footsteps came toward his cell and, when the guard appeared, he was accompanied by a man in a cheap suit. "Mr. Jagneaux, this is your lawyer."

The man dismissed the guard, after being locked in with Jagneaux. "Mr. Jagneaux, I'm Harrold Spence, from the Public Defender's office. I've been assigned to represent you until your own counsel is retained. If you do not have counsel, our office will continue to provide legal service."

"Yeah, okay. What am I supposed to do next? Why am I here?"

The lawyer went on to describe the procedures in local court, but wasn't sure yet if it would remain there or transfer to federal court. The charges weren't clear yet. He didn't mention "murder" and Jagneaux wasn't asking. Spence wrote some notes and left after five minutes.

An hour later, there were more footsteps. The guard opened the door and Jagneaux nearly fainted. The Big Man was dressed in a dark business suit that looked fresh off the rack. Jagneaux stood, not believing what he was seeing. "You too! They got you too?"

He failed to notice that the man entering his cell wasn't in handcuffs. "Hello, Mr. Jagneaux, I imagine you're surprised to see me."

Jagneaux just stared, uncertain what was happening. He couldn't speak.

"My real name is Dom Rodriguez. I'm DEA."

Jagneaux's shocked expression was gratifying to the agent. The undercover operation had worked flawlessly. "What ... what do you mean? You mean I got setup> This whole business with the cartel is a scam?" He became irrational. He might have attacked the man sitting on the bunk across from him if he wasn't so big and powerful looking.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. You were at the center of a sanctioned project from the US Government."

"What about all the deals? What about all the stuff you gave me and the money?"

"Well, I'm sure you know how it works. All of your assets are subject to seizure. I don't think it will matter much to you, however. You won't be free again in your lifetime."

Rodriguez was being completely truthful; Jagneaux knew the realities.

Rodriguez said, "After a few days, after I've consulted with the US Attorney, we may have some kind of deal to offer you, but there's nothing on the table now."

Jagneaux pleaded, "What am I charged with?"

"That's being worked out by the prosecutor; you'll be formally charged in forty-eight hours or sooner." He stood, signaling the guard to open the heavy metal bar door. "We'll be seeing you around, Johnny."

He'd been in jail before, but only for minor offenses. It struck him, as the Agent left, that he was now just a felony statistic, someone lost in the system. He would die behind bars. He wept.

The night before had resembled wartime chaos. The weather had been only one complicating factor. The Sheriff's intervention screwed the whole operation. The monitoring agents had to intervene, and the only option after that was to arrest Jagneaux to silence him. The operation was in motion and could not be stopped.

None of the deliveries from the boat were attempted. The boat had stayed in port. It had been impounded in Caracas and the crew arrested by the Venezuelan State Police under pressure from the US Government. There were no drugs aboard, but the DEA had records of all the earlier transactions. There was never going to be a huge shipment. The DEA had used seized drugs until then for the smaller shipments, but there was never going to be a big quantity.

The plan was that Jagneaux would get frustrated and leave the park after knowing that no drones had succeeded in deliveries. He would be forced to confront the crips with an empty car, drawing them to him. They would have most of their members there. The huge money would ensure it.

The DEA had secretly moved the FAST team into position over several hours, surrounding the meeting area. The storm helped conceal them. Jagneaux was the bait that would draw everyone to the spot. The team was instructed to protect him, if possible, as a witness, but it would be impossible to guarantee his safety if gunfire erupted with him in the middle. It really didn't matter that much to the DEA.

When Taylor screwed things up, Jagneaux was taken out of the plan and one of the agents would drive his car into the Plantation. In the dark, the deception would work to a point, until the crips saw the imposter close up. It was dangerous for the volunteer, but the DEA had no choice. The team was advised of the change and told to protect the agent. The agent wore body armor and other protective equipment. He also had a close-combat auto shotgun if the crips got to the car.

The weather was a complicating factor. It made insertion of the team easier, but communications of any kind worse. It had been impossible to hear any dialogue, so protocol had been established with the senior team leader to be the first to shoot, if necessary. They all knew it would be necessary.

Jagneaux had called the gang leader from the jail following Rodriguez's instructions. He told the crips that he had the goods and they agreed to meet that night at the plantation. The delivery was scheduled for ten o'clock. After the arrangements were made, Jagneaux wasn't involved, only the DEA and FBI.

The federal team was in place shortly after dark. The wind howled. Rain, moss and other tree debris crisscrossed the plantation. Radios were used to position everyone in the ground brush and vines between the river oaks and cyprus trees, before the gang arrived. Team members crouched under camo tarps, shielding from the weather, waiting for the crips.

Two large cargo vans arrived minutes before ten. Eight gang members exited quickly and stayed behind the trucks, in the central clearing awaiting Jagneaux. The federal agents remained hidden a hundred yards away in the jungle. At ten o'clock, the lead agent radioed the agent in the decoy vehicle to proceed and minutes later he arrived, driving the white SUV into the plantation compound. As the bait arrived, he switched to high beams, making it difficult for anyone to see inside. He stopped about fifty feet from the trucks and sat unmoving for the bad guys to show. It was the most terrifying seconds of the young agent's life. DEA was accustomed to danger, but it was never without fear. He knew the team was there, somewhere, but for several seconds, at least, he was alone as the gang members started appearing.

One member yelled while shielding from the bright lights. "Yo! Off with the lights."

Five gang members approached and separated, circling the car. All carried some kind of firearm. One approached the driver's door signaling to drop the window. The agent sat stoically, balancing the assault shotgun across his legs. His face was partially hidden by a floppy camo hat.

"Open the trunk, honky, les' see the goods."

From somewhere in the dark, between some trees and concealed by jungle, someone yelled. "Federal officers, put down your weapons!"

The man nearest the SUV driver raised his Uzi machine gun, but was slower than the driver who fired his shotgun at pointblank range, shattering the man's torso, sending the shattered body tumbling in a fog of red spray. At that signal, the storm was overcome by an explosion of gunfire from gang members hiding behind their vans and inside the box trucks and federal officers firing from several directions. There was no hiding from the feds. It was over in seconds with every gang member dead or dying. No feds were killed. The SUV driver had dived to the floor, unhurt even though the car was hit several times, mostly in the windshield.

The following morning, after-action-reports had not been written yet, and few facts were known by the media. Little was communicated to the press. It was reported as an FBI-led operation that resulted in all gang members being killed in a violent shootout. A large amount of cash was taken, several million dollars. Some of the FAST team members were shot, but there were no fatal wounds. Armor did its job.

Meanwhile, Johnny Jagneaux was secure in the Cameron Sheriff's jail, waiting for the federal officers to take him.

Relocation

Taylor went to an emergency shelter to bathe and change clothes. The doctors had advised him to be examined for water-borne disease, but he'd refused. He wanted to be back with Sarah and Mike, Jr. When he returned, the nurse's station informed him that Mike, Jr. was to be released and asked Taylor if there was anyone to contact. He thought about Sarah's parents. Her aunt had died a few years earlier. "I'm his father, I'll take him."

The nurses assumed they were divorced and seemed reluctant to give the boy up until some proof of custody could be shown, but the hospital was under siege with trauma patients, so when pressured, no more confirmation was needed. He was directed to the children's ward where Mikey sat next to a bed, dressed in a gown over his dirty jeans.

Taylor said, "Hey, Mike, you ready to get out of here?"

"I want to see my momma. They said I had to wait. Can you take me there, Mike?"

"Sure I can. Get your stuff and let's go."

The ward nurse tried to enforce hospital protocol for a wheel chair attendant, but it was wasted effort. There were too many injured people and too few attendants. Taylor led the boy out to the elevator, heading for Sarah's ward.

"Now, Mikey, you need to stay in the waiting room until I make sure she's awake. She was hurt kinda bad and needs sleep."

"Mike, I want to see her."

"I know, son, it'll just be a minute."

When they got to the visitor's lounge, Taylor walked a short distance alone to the big ward, looking inside while keeping view of Mike, Jr. Sarah was still upright in bed, looking sad but awake. He signaled for Mikey to come with him.

The boy walked quickly to the ward door but stopped short, next to Taylor, hesitant about his mother. "Is she gonna be okay, Mike?"

Taylor put a hand on his shoulder. "She's going to be fine, Mikey."

The boy stepped inside until he saw her, then ran to her bedside, trying to reach across the covers to hug his mother.

Sarah became more animated than Taylor expected. She had needed her son. She needed to know he was all right. There was the proof. Mikey hugged as well as he could, reaching across. They embraced, and she said something causing him to nod vigorously. Sarah would be okay. Taylor could see that now; and, for the first time, he felt exhausted. He hadn't slept in over two days, and so much had happened. He came to her. "Hey, you look better."

She smiled. "I'm glad you didn't say I looked good, that would be a lie."

He smiled. "You look good to me."

"I'm just happy to be alive, but we lost everything. There's nothing left."

"Don't think about it now. Everything can be replaced. You just need to get well."

"Mike, I don't know what to say. You saved me and Mikey when nobody else even tried. You'll always be my best hero."

"Hey, I was just there at the right time, that's all. But let's not worry about what happened. I just did my first fatherly act. I took custody of our young man at the release desk. I'm officially his father on the hospital records; at least the hospital thinks so."

"I like that. He needs a father, even if it's only until I get well."

"You do that, then we'll talk about the rest."

Concern

As they smiled at each other, Taylor's phone buzzed. It was the Sheriff's office.

"Hello."

"Mike." It was the Office Assistant, May. "Mike, Sheriff Gay was wonderin' where you were? We expected you on duty today."

Taylor stepped away from Sarah and Mike, Jr. He explained his situation in Corpus Christi and got some personal time off. He said thanks and was about to hang up when she said, "Oh, by the way, we got a serious prisoner in lockup here, a fellow named John Jagneaux. Some federal agents brought him in a couple nights ago ... no explanation, just gotta hold him a while. His lawyer is insisting on a hearing this afternoon. You're missing all the action."

Taylor shifted thoughts away from Sarah for a moment. "Okay, May, I'll be back there as quick as I can." He thought ... Jagneaux! He wanted to be back at Cameron, beating the shit out of the man. But it wasn't more important than the people who needed him in Corpus.

As the call ended, his phone buzzed again. "Hey, Nicky."

"Mike, are you all right? I saw the news. The storm looks terrible. I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine. I'm actually in Corpus Christi."

"Oh, it was hit hardest of all! Is your son okay?"

"Yes, he's fine." So is Sarah for that matter.

"Good, I wanted to talk to you about coming up here. I explained it to my parents and Millie, although she doesn't really understand yet, that my 'special friend' is coming to visit. I've got a plan for most of the time. You're going to love it here. Would you bring Mike, Jr.?"

"They had a lot of damage. Sarah and Mikey were in her trailer when the wind blew it over and then it flooded. They're pretty banged up. I took some time from work to help them. I should be home in a few days. We should talk then about my coming, once I get things squared away." It was the vaguest non-answer he could create. He needed to get things sorted out. But mostly, he needed some sleep to think straight.

He walked back inside the ward where Mike, Jr. had crawled up onto Sarah's bed. They appeared to be sleeping, but as he approached, she opened her eyes. "Everything okay, Mike?"

At that moment, he reflected on the call from the parish. Jagneaux was in jail. He was in their jail! He could no longer think clearly. "Oh, just some work stuff."

"You look exhausted. No wonder, after driving through the storm, then rescuing us."

"Yeah, I'm pretty tired."

"You got any place to stay?"

"No. I don't expect there are any hotels functioning. I could stay here with you in the chair, but I'll probably sleep in my truck. Will Mikey be okay with you?"

She smiled. "We'll be just fine. You go sleep."

He nodded and started to leave when she added, "Come here, I want to kiss you."

Their relationship changed with that one kiss. He felt something happen that he hadn't been expecting. Ever since she'd contacted him, he'd wondered, but hadn't really expected a return to their earlier attachment. It couldn't be the same for many reasons, with all the years and their different experiences. He'd been determined to help her get a good life, which was supposed to involve another man, whom Taylor hadn't met. Yet, the man had been willing to let her die in the storm. That kiss was a lightning strike. He no longer wanted her to have a better life with someone else – he wanted her to have that life with him. It was like those years apart had been wiped away. They'd never grown apart.

"Sarah, I want..."

"Shhh...we can talk later. You need to sleep and so do we. We can talk as much as you want later, Mike, but I want you to rest now."

He agreed, smiled and walked out to find his sanctuary, his truck. His head ached from fatigue, but he was happy. Had Sarah somehow understood about Nicky? He couldn't think about it now, the neurons weren't working to capacity. Sarah was safe now. He collapsed on the truck's bench seat, dead to the world.

Hours later, it was dawning and he felt refreshed. He had an idea to discuss with Sarah. He was excited. Maybe the storm was an omen, causing him to focus more clearly on his own desires. He hurried into the hospital, bounding up the stairs rather than waiting for the elevator.

He entered the ward expecting to see Sarah and Mike, Jr. still in bed together. Instead, Sarah was asleep and Mikey wasn't anywhere in sight. Sitting beside the bed was a short fifty-ish, semi-obese balding man, reading a fishing magazine. When Taylor approached, the reader stood and cautioned, "Ah, she's asleep, friend. She shouldn't be disturbed."

Owen ... he had to be Owen. "I'm Mike Taylor, Mikey's father, who are you?"

"Well, partner, it's great to meet y'all." He stuck out his hand, expecting Taylor to accept it. He didn't. "I'm Owen Maynert, Sarah's boyfriend. We're just mighty glad you came to take young Mike back to your place. He's a fine boy ... sure to make you happy. Yessir, a mighty fine boy."

"Too fine to live with you?"

Maynert's jovial demeanor mellowed slightly. "Now, that ain't exactly right. You see, I got some family issues, you know what I mean? I got me a wife and some grow'd kids to keep appeased who wouldn't take kindly to a young fellow around my house. Hell, friend, it wouldn't be fair to the boy anyway, he needs someone to play ball and do some sportin' things. I ain't quite up to it anymore."

"Where's Mike now?"

"Well, you see, they got a nursery here, and I arranged with the nurses to take him there. That way, me an' Sarah can have some peace and quiet. She went through a rough go, you know."

"Yeah, I know. Where were you?"

"Look, son, I don't know if I like your tone of voice."

"Well, I'll tell you what, 'friend,' let's take a walk so we can talk without disturbing Sarah."

"I don't want to leave her alone, no sir, not for a minute."

"Why not? You left her alone in a flimsy trailer to die when the storm hit. She's got plenty of help here."

"Well, I..."

Taylor didn't want an answer. He grabbed the fat man's upper arm and escorted him out of the ward and onto the elevator. He pressed the button for the ground floor and didn't speak while other people were nearby. When they got to the entrance, Taylor pointed outward. "Get your ass outta here, PARTNER! I'm a peaceful kinda guy, but I could make an exception in your case."

Maynert pulled away, concerned that anyone could see the way Taylor pushed him around. "You can't tell me what to do! I got a mind to call security and have you thrown out."

Taylor leaned closer, inches from the man's face. "You call whoever you want, but understand that there's no way in hell you're ever seeing her again, and I'll tell the nurses that you have no say regarding our son. If you would like, I'd be happy to explain this to Sarah with you there. Right now, I imagine she finally realizes what a cockroach you really are. If you want to step outside, I'll show you what I do to cockroaches."

Maynert started to stutter something undiscernible but quickly turned and rushed out. He wouldn't be back.

Mike found the nursery and rescued Mike, Jr. from toddlers pushing things at him. The boy said, "Thanks, Mike, I don't know why Mr. Owen doesn't like me."

"That's all right, Mike, it doesn't matter. I had a chat and Mr. Owen, he's gone now. You won't be put back with the babies. Your momma needs you."

On the ward, Mike, Jr. climbed back into bed with his mother. She woke slightly and hugged her son, not letting go. Then she slept again, and Mikey closed his eyes, at peace, safe with her. Taylor sat in the chair where the interloper had squatted. He'd be their guardian while she healed. Owen Maynert was history.

Taylor stayed with them for two more days before Sarah was cleared to leave. She should have stayed longer to watch for infection, but the antibiotic schedule was completed, and her temperature remained normal. As a welfare case, the hospital wanted to clear the bed as quickly as possible.

She had no place to go. Taylor wasn't going to cast her adrift to some shelter when the entire area was overwhelmed with homeless people. When her release was signed, he said, "I want you to come home with me. I have the room, and it would be good for Mike."

She looked at her folded hands. "Mike, I can't let you do this."

"Yes, you can, Sarah, I want to. What other options do you have?"

He continued, "Sarah, I don't know where this is leading, but I know you'll have a better life by me."

"What about your other love life?"

"What do you mean?"

"Mike, you're a great-looking guy, a guy with a good job, honest, caring and fun to be around. You can't tell me you don't have a girl, maybe several."

He paused. "Okay, there is someone. I don't know where this is going, I just want to help you. And I don't worry about what she would think."

"How would you explain it, if I was living with you?"

"You're a friend, and I'm helping you get settled in a new place."

"Yeah, sure ... we have a history, Mike. Are you saying nothing could ever happen between us?"

"Ah, no, but that's not the point now. Right now, Sarah, you and Mike, Jr. are important to me. I'm not looking for more than that."

"You might not be, but are you willing to risk your other life on this?"

"Yes, I am." He'd actually never thought this deeply into the impact on Nicky and him. He didn't want to lose her. He didn't want to lose either of them. It seemed unsolvable. "I'm not leaving you here, Sarah. Whatever happens -- happens. I can take that risk. Somehow, out of divine providence maybe, we got reconnected. I'm not leaving you alone again."

Deal

Jagneaux couldn't sleep. It wasn't just the tangible things that had been destroyed or taken by the feds; it was his life. He would never feel safe again. The crips were everywhere, and he was a marked man. They would blame him for the ambush. He didn't bring the DEA down on them, but it didn't matter. If he could get out of this jail, he'd run. He'd be nameless. He'd hitchhike, if necessary. He'd steal to survive. He'd disappear forever. But for now, he was in a cage.

The cell block door opened with a resounding clang, followed by heavy footsteps. The Big Man, Rodriguez, entered his cell. Jagneaux looked up from his bunk. "What do you want?"

"This could be your lucky day, Johnny. I talked to the State Attorney and convinced him to make you a deal. You could be a free man with a little help in court."

"You want me to snitch? That won't happen! I got a target on me right now. You think I'm gonna hold the gun to my own head. Get fucked – get out!"

"We have a WITSEC program, Witness Security, for protection. You get a whole new identity. We move you to a new house away from here. It's furnished, and you get a salary. It isn't high-class living, but it's better than any other option you've got."

Jagneaux knew about witness protection, everyone knows. It sounds good at first, but people usually screw up, get made, and get dead. But, it was better than a life sentence and a shank some night in his cell. "You mean everything is forgotten? "Even the murder of the park Ranger?"

"That's a problem, but you keep your mouth shut, and nobody'll investigate it more. They all think your stooge, Leroy, killed her."

Jagneaux didn't mention Leroy's murdered sister. "How do I know I can trust you, the 'Government'?"

"That won't be a problem."

"It's a huge problem, you destroyed me!"

Rodriguez managed his temper better than Jagneaux. "You brought this on yourself. You knew the risks going in, and you knew how we operated. Nothing should surprise you."

Rodriguez signaled the Deputy to open the door, but Jagneaux wasn't through talking. "So, how does this work? Is some kinda lawyer gonna bring papers or something?"

Rodriguez explained it all to him. They both knew he would take the deal. Jagneaux could have asked for some specific perks, but he accepted the program, as presented. The Government needed to keep him alive for the trial and after if there were appeals. It was decided to keep him at the Parish jail for now as "John Doe" to hide him, as much as possible. Any place with a large population of prisoners was risky.

Taylor was on duty the following day. Sarah had been released from the Corpus hospital with instructions for rest and a prescription for antibiotics and pain medication. He drove them back to his apartment and got the meds at a local pharmacy. Sarah was tired from the trip, and Mike, Jr. would be with her while Taylor worked. Mikey could call Taylor if she needed something. Taylor was aware, of course, that Jagneaux was at the Sheriff's building, isolated in a holding cell. He might see him if he was assigned as the duty officer for the cells, but otherwise could avoid him. There was a rumor from the other deputies that some kind of deal had been made, and they were all aware of his false identity, but nobody knew the details. They were just to keep him locked away until the Feds came for him. Taylor knew Jagneaux murdered Amanda, but he was the only one in the office who knew.

He managed to avoid Jagneaux most of the week. He opened the cell block twice for meal deliveries but didn't speak to the prisoner who didn't look directly at the Deputy. Off duty, Sarah was recovering, and they were spending free time lounging around the pool when it was quiet and cool enough. Mike, Jr. enjoyed the water.

Two nights after returning to duty, they were at his patio table eating pizza when his phone buzzed ... Nicky.

"Hi, how are you, Nicky?" He sat back, not hiding the call from Sarah.

"I'm good, Mike. I miss you, and I know you miss me." She presumed.

"Ah, yeah. It's good to hear from you." Not the warmest reply. He'd avoided thinking about her since taking Sarah in. He hadn't resolved his feelings for the two women in his life. Conflicted, he was unsure of himself and felt his head starting to ache.

Nicky shifted. "The news here said there was a big drug bust down there. Were you involved?"

"No. It was a federal operation. We didn't get involved."

"So, do you know if that guy, John Jagneaux, was there? Did he get caught or killed? It said there were a lotta criminals shot. I hope he was one of them."

Taylor sat back, unsure what to say. "Ah, Nicky, I don't have any names."

"So, Mike, I was thinking of coming back down there to see if that guy is one of the dead ones."

"Ah, Nicky, I don't know if that's a good idea. That kind of information doesn't always get publicized and it could just be a wasted trip. Maybe I can find something out."

"Now, Mike, don't you want to see me anyway?"

"Sure, but it might not be a good time." He looked at Sarah, who was looking at the pizza.

"Why not? You got some hot chick you don't want me to know about?" She teased.

"Well ... I do have a houseguest. She's staying in my extra room with her son. You know, I told you about Sarah and our son, Michael. They were wiped out by the storm, and I brought them here."

There was a short pause. "I see. So, is this a problem between us?"

He had the same question. "It shouldn't be. I just don't think you would be comfortable staying here, maybe you could stay at Amanda's. You could meet Sarah and Mike, Jr."

"Look, Taylor, be honest, is this a problem for us?"

"Honestly, Nicky ... I don't know. Maybe it would be best to wait a bit, and let me settle things here." He looked at Sarah for guidance, but she just looked away.

"I've got to go, Mike. I'll think about it." She hung up.

Sarah asked, "Girlfriend?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure. She came down here trying to find out who killed her younger sister. The sister was a Forest Ranger at one of our parks. Anyway, I kinda helped her out unofficially and we ... we sorta became attached."

"Hey, it's not my business. I just don't want to become a problem for you."

"Sarah, you are NOT a problem. You're a person I want to help. Mikey is my son, our son, and I want you here. The other thing, well, that's just something I need to work out."

Two more days went by, and he hadn't talked to Nicky. He wasn't sure of his situation with Sarah. He felt a strong attachment to Nicky, but it was different. Nicky and he didn't have a history. They were attracted to each other like first-time lovers, without reservation. He'd fallen in love with her without conflict.

Sarah had only been a dream until recently. His first love ... two virgin farm kids discovering the secrets of life together. Now, she was real again and his feelings were returning but in a different form. She was an adult woman, with a child, their child. Regardless of her feelings for him now, he loved his son. He wasn't going to force the issue with her; she had to arrive at her feelings toward him, unconstrained. He needed to do the same. She wasn't a dream anymore.

On the one hand, he felt he loved Nicky. On the other hand, he had a special obligation to Sarah and Mikey. He wasn't obliged to love her now, but he was conflicted. He called Nicky. "Hey, I want you here, you and me. I love you, but it's not so simple. I have a son who I also love, and he has a mother I have an obligation to protect now."

"Are you telling me you love me and not her?"

"It's different, Nicky. I can't define it. I just want the chance to see you again and have you meet Sarah, not as adversaries. Can't I just have a woman friend?"

"Mike, it may be more than that, and you're just not admitting it to yourself. Look, I've been hurt before, and the worst thing you can do is lie to me."

"I'm trying to be completely honest, Nicky. I don't know how I feel about Sarah and I sure don't know how she feels about me. We never broke up like normal relations. She got pregnant, and our parents forced us apart. There's some unanswered space in between. I know my love for you is real, and I don't want to lose it. I just feel that it would help everyone if you met Sarah and Mikey."

"I don't know, Mike. This could be a very bad idea. We could hate each other and force you to make a decision you don't want to make yet."

"Yeah, but you already think I've made it."

"Probably."

"Look, I got another reason. I shouldn't tell you this, but we have Johnny Jagneaux in our jail for protection." It slipped out. He should never have said anything.

"What! When? You told me you didn't know anything."

"Yes, that's right. I could lose my job for saying this. I could probably go to jail myself. He's in there as 'John Doe' in protective custody until trial."

"Protection from what?"

"He's gonna testify for some kind of deal."

"What do you mean ... deal! He killed Amanda. He said it to me. How do you deal-away my sister's murder?"

"I don't know the details, or even if it's true. It's just a rumor here."

"Okay, I'll think about it."

Parents

Sarah was asleep early. She'd been outside at the pool in the shade most of the afternoon, and they all ate supper on the covered patio before she went to bed at eight o'clock. She was getting stronger. She would rest during the day when Taylor worked, but her naps were getting shorter. Mikey was enjoying a break from school and might need to stay back a year once settled in, but overall, they were becoming more comfortable. It was bedtime for Mike, Jr. after he and Taylor watched a bayou fishing program together. He'd just gone to bed in his mother's room when Taylor's phone buzzed.

"Michael, it's your father."

"Yes, sir, what can I do for you?"

"Your mother and me is fine, thanks for asking."

You didn't ask me either old man!

"What do you want, sir."

"Well then, I'll get right to the point."

Yeah, please do.

"You got that Chase girl living with you, don't you? Don't try to deny it, her father told me."

Sarah had called her mother briefly one morning when she knew her father was doing farm chores, just to tell her she was alive and that Taylor was taking care of her. "Why would I deny it, sir? I want her here."

"You gotta get her out o' there. Neither me or her daddy approve o' this. This is sinful."

Taylor had had enough of these selfish bible-thumping old farts. "Well, Daddy, I don't give a flying fuck what you and farmer Chase approve of. We have our own lives, and they don't involve you."

"Now you listen here, son, you can't be disrespectful."

"I can be anything I want, because I don't care what you say. Sarah, that's her name, and me are adults. Maybe you didn't figure it out yet, but you don't control me."

"Now look here, Michael, someday you're gonna inherit this farm unless I write a will otherwise, and you damn well need to listen to me now."

"That rundown piece of cow shit isn't worth anything, and I'll never be a farmer. When you're gone, the town will take it over for back taxes and it'll be abandoned."

"Now, listen here..."

"Don't call me again." He ended the call, feeling satisfied. He'd told the old man his feelings for Sarah and Mike, Jr. twice, and it felt better each time.

He wouldn't tell Sarah about the call.

He worked again the next day on patrol with no jail duty. He arrived home after four o'clock to a big surprise. Sarah and Nicky were sitting together at the breakfast table having tea. Mike, Jr. was in view by the pool. They both smiled at him. "Hey, you two, this is a surprise."

Nicky stood to kiss him as he approached. Sarah smiled and sipped tea.

"When did you get here?"

"A couple hours ago ... I went to Amanda's, but it was lonely and pointless, so I thought, what the heck, I'd come over here. If you weren't home, I figured Sarah and I could get to know each other."

"Okay, well, how's it going?"

They all sat and Sarah said, "Nicky's really nice, Mike. She told me the sad story how you met."

Nicky added, "Then Sarah told me about you guys on the farm, and how, later, you saved her life. I always saw you as a hero."

"Okay, stop. Since we're on full disclosure here ... I'm hungry."

There was no more worry about Nicky being tracked by the DEA, so he suggested a local Cajon shrimp and crawfish restaurant. It wasn't expensive and absolutely Cajun. Nicky had only had a sampling during her earlier visits, so it was, more or less, a new experience. Sarah knew what to expect. It went well, and Mike, Jr. loved it. He'd never eaten out before except a few times hiding in the back of the diner's kitchen when school was out.

After they returned, Sarah was tired and left for bed, leaving Nicky and Taylor alone. He suggested a glass of wine poolside while Mike, Jr. prepared for bed and joined his mother.

He began. "Well, wow, I guess you made up your mind to come, quickly. I didn't think you could get plane tickets so fast."

"It took a little finagling. I got to Houston and was lucky to find a commuter plane here. It worked okay, but it was a long day, starting before sunrise."

"You must be exhausted."

"I'm tired, Mike, but first of all, I don't want you to think I'm here to bust up anything between you and Sarah. She's really nice and has had a hard life – harder than mine. I can see why you want to help her. You're that kind of guy."

"It's not what you might think, Nicky. I've been honest with you. I couldn't leave her in Corpus. She had nothing left and even worse options for the future. I needed to help her and Mike, Jr. There isn't anything more than that, and she's never asked for more."

"I know. Like I said, she's sweet, and I don't want to hurt her either. It's all up to you."

"I don't know what you mean?"

"She loves you, you idiot."

He stared without talking.

"Girls know these things when they talk. She's loved you all her life; you just don't get it."

"She said that?"

"No. It's not something she'd say; it's more in how she talks about you and her. It goes back to the barn and it never left her."

"Nicky, you could be right, but I love you."

"Maybe so, Mike. I don't want you feeling bad, however it goes. I'm a big girl and made some bigger mistakes. We've got a couple of days, so let's see how it goes. I'm too tired to discuss it more. It's time for me to go."

He walked with her to the car, Amanda's Toyota, where she gave him a quick peck on the cheek. There was nothing more to discuss at that moment.

The next day seemed to last forever to him. He knew Nicky wouldn't be sitting around at Amanda's. There were two women special to him now. He didn't know what to do or how to think. There was nobody he could ask. He would need to decide how to handle things.

That afternoon, Sarah was alone at his place. She looked heathier than ever, completely normal, dressed in slacks and a knit shirt he'd bought for her. She'd washed her blond hair and looked beautiful. "Wow, it's amazing what new clothes and a few cosmetics can do. You look great!"

"Thank you. I feel good, too. In fact, in a couple days, I can start looking for work and maybe get out of your hair."

"Don't be in such a hurry." He realized that he didn't want her to leave soon.

"Mike, I can't stay here. I'm ruining your life. Nicky's nice, but she's also in love with you and I'm just in the way."

"Sarah, you're not in the way. I want to get to know you ... again."

"There's not much to know, Mike. You know everything about what I've done since ... since ..."

He put a hand on her arm, "I want to know you, the person, and not just where you've been."

She felt a rush of emotion she'd blocked for years. Men had made passes and gestures at the diner. She'd been undressed mentally every working day. She knew how fickle men could be. Married men fantasized about leaving their home life and shacking with her for a night. Owen had been one of them and turned out as bad as anyone she could imagine. She was afraid of Taylor. She was afraid of releasing to him. He was different, someone from her dreams, someone with real values. It seemed risky to presume too much from him.

Talk was cheap, she'd heard it all of her working life. Mike said the right things, but words weren't what she needed now. Her barriers wouldn't come down easily. She didn't know how to open up with him, and he didn't understand her well enough to break through. Somehow, they'd have to do it together.

She looked at him. "You know what?"

"What?"

"I've never been on a real date. Owen was careful to take me where nobody would recognize him. My aunt was a tyrant and I could never date. Heck, she had me working as soon as the baby came. I was never allowed any free time. When she died, I moved out and tried to work as much overtime as I could to give Mikey better things. I never had any time for anyone."

He smiled. "Well, you have time now, and I'd like to ask you to go out with me. We could go to a movie or dinner ... how about both?"

"I would like that, but what about Mikey?"

"Could he stay here? He's big enough, and he could keep the doors locked and snack all night watching cable. If he needed us for any reason, just have him text me, we won't go far."

"He can't text. I don't have a smart phone, never able to afford one."

"Well, guess what, I have two. He can have my personal phone tonight and I'll use the department phone."

"Will you show him how to text?"

"Absolutely." Nicky would have to amuse herself alone tonight.

They had fun. Sarah had been to the movies with Mike, Jr., but never with someone her age. It was different. After dinner at a chain Mexican restaurant, they picked a romance movie. They had popcorn and drinks and commented on some of the racier scenes. Part way through, he took her hand, and she let him. He hadn't liked romance movies until this night. He liked it with Sarah.

Returning home after ten o'clock, Mike, Jr. was asleep on the couch surrounded by a pizza box, broken chips and an unfinished coke on the table. The TV was still on.

Sarah put the boy in her bed, and Taylor cleaned the couch. "Let's have a glass of wine on the patio."

It was a humid night, but not oppressively hot. They sat in the dark with only partial lighting from other apartments reflecting over the pool. She sipped the Cabernet and felt relaxed. "Thank you, Mike. I had a nice time."

"So, does this qualify as your first date?"

She smiled. "Of course, my first and best so far."

"So far? You expecting more?"

"Yep, until I get married. Maybe I'll never get married and just keep going on dates."

He smiled, but didn't respond.

"Mike, you need to spend time with Nicky while she's down here."

"I know, but let's let tonight be about us."

"Okay, I'm a little cold, can we sit closer?"

They didn't sleep together. Neither wanted to jump into a relationship quickly, and Nicky was still in the mix. At work the next day, Taylor had a hard time focusing, thinking about the two women. Just a month earlier, he had nobody to care about and just his gym routine to manage. Everything was different now. His phone dinged ... a text.

"Hey, how about lunch? Nicky"

He replied. "Sure! Same place as last, see you at noon ..." He almost finished with "love you," but didn't.

It was a curious lunch. Instead of their usual pattern, talking about themselves, likes and dislikes, plans for Taylor to visit in Maine, etc. it evolved to discussing Sarah. Nicky had insights into Sarah that Taylor wasn't aware of. It was complex and difficult. He found himself mulling between two women. He found himself trying to compare them, but they were different women. There were similarities; but in the end, they were completely different people. Both appealed to him; and from what he could tell, both of them really liked him. He'd never had a serious adult girlfriend, and now, he had two.

"Look, Mike, I know you're not going to be spending much time with me now. I wish it were different. I have a return flight day after tomorrow. If we could see each other again, I'd like that, but I don't expect more." Her tone was depressing.

They left each other with a parting kiss. He wasn't sure what to make of it. It seemed so final somehow. That night, being with Sarah and Mike, Jr., he forgot about Nicky. Their ritual on the porch after Mikey's bedtime evolved to their first passionate kiss. Sarah's wall was coming down and Taylor's urges soared. His work phone jingled. "Yes?"

It was an emergency at the office and he needed to rush to work. When he arrived, the duty officer and dispatcher had subdued a woman trying to break into the cell block. It was Nicky. She was placed in a small interview room, requesting to have Taylor present. He first talked to the duty officer, Chad Messer. "What's going on, why's she in there?"

Chad explained that she came into the station demanding to see the prisoner. "I explained that there is a 'visitors schedule' during the day that mostly was used by lawyers. Then I told her we didn't have anyone locked up. She started screaming obscenities and tried to break through the fire door. We grabbed her and put her in there, and she demanded to see you." The Deputy paused for a moment. "Mike, how did she know we had a prisoner? How did she know it was Jagneaux?"

He lied, "I don't know, Chad."

He then entered the room and closed the door. "Nicky, what are you doing here?"

She smiled, a little glassy eyed. He recognized the symptoms. "You drunk?"

"Yep."

She was sitting back, slouching uncomfortably. "You look nice in uniform. The first time I saw you, in that Ranger station, I thought you were a complete asshole. You're really a nice guy."

"Okay, come on, I'll take you home." He walked around the table and helped support her on unstable legs. She put an arm over his shoulder, around his neck and he wrapped an arm around her waist, carrying about half her weight. He avoided eye contact with others in the office as they exited.

He left the station with her as Messer looked on. In his truck, Nicky leaned her head against the window. "I just want to see that murderer. I want to tell him off. He killed my baby sister with a hammer!" She started crying.

"I know, Nicky. I know."

When he got her to Amanda's place, she was in no condition to walk up the stairs, so Taylor put his arm around her and led the way. He took the key from her and opened the door. There were some takeout food wrappers and a partially emptied wine bottle on the table.

He lifted her onto the bed, removing her shoes and she smiled at him. "Go ahead, take the rest. I know you want to. Come on, you wanna fuck me, I can tell."

"Nicky, you're drunk. You're a beautiful drunk, but I do have some standards. Now ... I have your car keys and the wine bottle is empty. So go to sleep and we can talk in the morning."

She was drowsy and didn't argue. Taylor poured out the remaining wine. He then dozed on the couch for an hour before locking the door when leaving.

Sheriff

"Taylor!" The Sheriff yelled from his office as his deputy arrived.

"Yes, sir, Gay, what's up?"

"I understand there was a disturbance here last night. There's an entry in the log by the duty officer; it says you were called in to deal with a disruptive young lady ... someone asking for you."

"Ah, yes, sir, she's a friend."

"What's this all about, Taylor?"

"She had too much to drink and wanted to see a jail cell."

"Why on earth would anyone want to see a cell?"

"I don't know, Gay, I think she knew she was incapacitated and wanted to sleep it off."

"This isn't a hotel for your friends, Taylor."

"I know that, Gay. She's not from around here and I guess she didn't know where else to go."

"You got it under control?"

"Yes. I took her to her sister's apartment and took away her keys; she's probably suffering a world-class hangover right now."

"Okay, well, make sure it doesn't happen again!"

"Yes, sir."

He had expected a reprimand. At least nothing was mentioned about the prisoner. Chad had been kind in the log notation. Taylor knew that Nicky needed to go home until Sarah got settled and Jagneaux was in prison. Maybe then he and she could settle into the next stage. He still felt there was more ahead in their relationship. Sarah had definitely entered the picture, though, and he could see a future with her also. It couldn't be resolved now, he needed to concentrate on work and clear the romantic cobwebs. His phone dinged.

The text read, "Sorry for whatever I did last night. I feel awful. Lunch?"

They met again at Bubba Lou's B-B-Q joint, eating outside under a canopy. It was hot, but Taylor was in uniform and wanted to be away from gawkers inside.

"Mike, I'm sorry for getting messed up last night and getting you involved. I was stupid."

"Yeah, well, I got an earful this morning from the Sheriff. Why did you do it, Nicky?"

"I don't know. I felt lonely after talking to Millie and was having a glass of wine. It just got out of control after that."

"You could have gotten into some serious trouble at the Sheriff's. What was that all about? I told you that you couldn't say anything about our prisoner."

"Mike, I'm sorry if I got you in trouble. It won't happen again."

"I hope not. I'm Gay's favorite, so no great damage done, but you can't show up there again. I made some excuses, but it won't work again."

She crossed her heart, "Girl Scouts' honor, I won't screw up again."

The rest of the meal went pleasantly. Nicky was going home the next morning. Taylor said he still planned to visit her. He couldn't understand it, whenever he was near Nicky, he was in love with her; but when he was with Sarah he felt the same. He pondered it when he was alone to the point of mental exhaustion. He knew it couldn't continue. He'd been picturing himself living in the Northeast, struggling in winter, playing with his pretty bride and new daughter. Then Sarah entered the picture.

The easiest solution would be to help Sarah get a good job and reestablish herself with Mike, Jr. As a Deputy Sheriff, he knew some prominent people and could help her. That was easy, but was it what he really wanted? With Nicky, he'd relocate to Maine and leave Sarah behind. She'd be okay. He'd be sure she was settled before moving. But he would miss her, her and Mike, Jr. On the other hand, he could see himself happily married to Sarah, with their son, continuing to build his career in the South. He was struggling to stay afloat in a sea of confusion with lifeboats on two sides -- which one should he choose?

He said, "Hey, let's all have dinner tonight at my place. I want to have Sarah and Mike, Jr. too." He wasn't sure what this would accomplish, but he wanted Nicky to believe that Sarah wasn't his secret lover in the background. She was still just a friend and he wanted Nicky to feel the same way. He wasn't sure it was true, even as he wished it.

She agreed, but her expression said something else. She really didn't want to share him on her last night. He wasn't thinking about her feelings, or Sarah's. He was thinking of himself.

When he returned to the office, May said that the Sheriff wanted to see him.

"Hey, Taylor. You and Chad both need to be here at oh-six-hundred tomorrow morning. There's some US Marshalls coming to transport our prisoner and they want it done early in the morning."

"Where's he going, Gay?"

"I don't know and don't care. Probably some federal safe house until trial."

"Roger that, Sheriff. I'll be here."

Dinner that night was subdued. They all stayed in at Taylor's where he grilled marinated steak tips from a local delicatessen. The evening was pleasant and relaxing. The girls seemed to be communicating, but not so much through dialogue. They seemed to know what the other was thinking.

Sunset was gorgeous in the clear western sky. When things slowed, he could tell that Sarah needed rest. He said, "Well, ladies, I've got an early day and Nicky has a plane to catch in the morning."

Nicky asked, "Any chance you could drive me to the airport, Mike?"

"When is your flight?"

"It's at eleven, so I'd like to get there around nine."

"Well, it would need to be a lot earlier, I could pick you up at five."

"Can't you be just a little late?"

"I'm sorry, Nicky, there's a prisoner exchange at six and I gotta be there, bosses orders. I have no choice."

Her look conveyed disappointment, or even despair, he couldn't tell. At that moment, he felt like calling the Sheriff or anyone else in the department and declaring some kind of dire illness. With everything else causing strain in their relationship, walking Jagneaux out the door just wasn't fair. But he'd bent so many rules already that he couldn't upset the Sheriff again. He didn't say any more.

Sarah started cleaning up while Taylor walked Nicky to her car. There, she kissed him passionately. "Thanks, Mike, for everything. It's been really special with you here. I came down at first with vengeance in my heart and found love instead." There was something unsaid in her expression, a kind of sadness. He couldn't read her. It occurred to him at that moment how much he still wanted to learn about her.

Despite her words, he sensed something changed between them. "Nicky ... Nicky, I feel the same way. It's irony, I guess, or fate. My feelings for you are real, I hope you know that. It's just, well, it's just that Sarah and Mikey came into my life at the same time and..."

"It's okay, Mike." She opened Amanda's car door. "Time will tell. I just hope you're being honest with me and Sarah."

He didn't say any more as she drove away. What does she mean?

He thought about it, walking back inside. Sarah was just finishing loading the dishwasher. "Okay, all done, I guess I'll go to bed now."

She started to kiss him on the cheek, but he asked, "Can you stay up with me a little longer. I need to talk to someone ... you." She nodded, and they went outside. Mike, Jr. had gone to bed.

She asked, "What's wrong, Mike?"

"Sarah, I don't know where my head is right now. I didn't expect to fall in love with Nicky or you, but it happened. I started as a cop helping Nicky and our relationship grew. You called for help, and it opened up old memories. I didn't want to interfere with your plans; it was the last thing I wanted. But now, I have feelings -- more than that. I don't know what to do." He was staring at her.

"Are you saying you love me?" She'd already sensed it, but was afraid to assume anything, especially with Nicky around. As much as she wanted him, she didn't want to upset his plans.

He took her hand. "Yeah, I guess I am."

She breathed deeply. "Well, it's not the most romantic approach I could imagine. You're telling me you love both of us, right?"

"Maybe."

"Okay, Mike. I'm not making this easy for you. Nicky loves you and ... so do I. Now, you need to commit to one of us, you can't have both. We're not in Utah, we're not Mormons."

She leaned forward and kissed him. It was one of those tender sweet kisses of long lingering love, from her soul. "Good night, Mike."

It wasn't a good night for him. He was going to hurt one of them. He hated thinking about it, and it kept him awake all night. He tossed, at one moment committed to Nicky, then to Sarah. He didn't sleep all night.

The alarm went off at 4:45AM. He showered, dressed in civilian clothes, and stopped at a donut shop on the way to Cameron for a breakfast sandwich. He should have been happy but he was feeling conflicted for not driving Nicky to the airport. She probably felt he was putting her off. He had two beautiful women who said they loved him, but he wasn't happy. He was miserable, and he was going to break someone's heart soon, something he'd never done before and would never have wanted.

Dawn was just breaking when he arrived at the office half an hour before the Marshalls were scheduled. Jagneaux had been prepped by the night duty officer, Chad. Both Deputies wore civilian clothes as the Marshalls had instructed. The two deputies sat in the kitchen, drinking coffee. It took a few minutes, but Chad finally asked Taylor about Nicky. "Say, Taylor, how do you manage to hook up with such good-looking girls? Evan as a drunk, Miss Bryant is really a doll."

"Look, Messer, it isn't as easy as it seems. I don't know what to do. Nicky and I ... well, we made some plans. She's different. She's smart and she's got both feet planted on earth, not like other girls around here. Maybe it's a northern thing. I'm planning to meet her up in Maine, but I got another problem."

"Well, I could go to Maine instead!"

"Yeah, well that's not my problem. I got another girl living with me right now. She's just a guest, but ... well, I don't know, she might be more than that."

"Man, Taylor. How do you do it? You got two on the line? I don't believe it. I'm better looking than you, and have a great personality and I'm a good dancer. You should read my online profile. How do you do it?"

"Hey, I'm being serious. Someone's gonna get hurt and I might not have anyone. I might need to move to Florida and change my name."

It was one of the first times the two deputies had talked much about their personal lives. Messer and Taylor could have been brothers if no one knew differently. In uniform, they were nearly identical and only a native would recognize the difference in accents. Messer was from Mississippi whereas Taylor was from Texas, two completely different dialects in Louisiana.

Messer went to Mississippi State University on a football scholarship, but didn't inspire any NFL offers. He'd worked in home repair retail businesses before landing the job with the Cameron Sheriff's office. They'd paid for his academy training at the Federal law Enforcement Training Center in Glencoe, GA, as a rookie. He started at the Sheriff's office six months before Taylor, who came in with years of military police experience. They were technically the same rank, although Taylor had more practical experience. They were about the same age and both single with no serious entanglements, although Taylor was zooming ahead in that department.

The two deputies had never socialized until this morning, and they discovered they had a lot in common. Before they could migrate more deeply into Taylor's personal life, two marshals arrived at six, just as expected. They carried shackles that fit ankles and hands with a connecting chain between both. The prisoner could walk by shuffling along with very short steps.

All four men entered the cell block where Jagneaux sat nervously on his bunk, dressed in a white and black-striped jumpsuit. The prospect of leaving the cell was terrifying. He knew there would be a contract out on his life, maybe two if the cartel wanted him dead as well as the crips. It would be a miracle if he lived to testify. Even surrounded by these large, serious officers, he felt he could die outside this jail. The two marshals placed Jagneaux in irons. He protested about the rough restraints, but nobody listened. Papers were signed and left on Taylor's desk. The marshals had fitted Jagneaux with a bullet-resistant vest. One of them pointed at the front entrance saying, "We go out with us two in front and you two (the Deputies) on either side." He told Jagneaux to keep his head low.

The Deputies had never done a prisoner exchange with the marshals before, but understood the precautions. The crips had to stop Jagneaux from testifying, and the best chance to kill him was outside a jail cell. "Okay, here's how it goes. When we get to the vehicle (armored van), we, the Marshals, push the prisoner ahead and enter right behind him. Pointing to Taylor, "You close the door. Got it?"

Both Deputies nodded. The lead Marshal pushed the glass door open, "Let's go."

The early dawn sent shards of brilliant color across the sky, but it was still dim as they moved rapidly through the swinging doors. The glass had a mirrored coating to reflect the sun, so it was impossible for anyone outside to see the men moving before the doors swung open. It was about fifty feet to the curb where a white armored utility van was waiting, engine running and driver in place. They moved slowly with Jagneaux shuffling along. They were just feet away from the van when she burst from her car parked nearby.

Taylor felt a sickening knot in his stomach, yelling, "Nicky, stay back!"

Almost simultaneously, a marshal yelled, "GUN!"

She stopped, pointing a gun she'd purchased the night before after talking to a couple sellers on Craigslist. Taylor had taught her how to shoot. She pointed at Jagneaux using both hands, without trembling like she had at their last meeting. In milliseconds, the marshals drew their weapons. Chad pushed Jagneaux down between all of them, instinctively. He wasn't looking at the shooter and didn't immediately recognize Nicky. He drew his weapon, but held fire when Taylor blocked him. Taylor didn't draw \-- he charged her. The marshals both fired as Taylor jumped between them, tackling Nicky. Gunfire resounded and Jagneaux was hit as he fell. A bullet passed through his neck and razed a marshal's leg. Chad holstered his weapon when he realized Taylor was in line. It was too late.

Nicky wasn't hurt with Taylor lying on top of her. Many of the bullets had gone wild in the melee, but not all of them. The Marshalls stopped firing soon after realizing that Taylor was in the line of fire. The entire episode lasted less than two seconds. Jagneaux lay dying and Nicky couldn't move under Taylor. She'd dropped the gun.

The officers ran to her and she screamed, "Mike, get off, you're crushing me. I give up."

He didn't move. "Mike ... Mike! Oh, God!"

Someone pulled Taylor's body off gently, releasing Nicky. Chad grabbed her arm and rushed her inside the jail. She screamed, "Mike, Mike! I didn't mean it, Mike!"

Taylor

Three days later the mood was somber at Taylor's apartment. Sarah helped Mike, Jr. sort through his new clothes. He protested. "Do I really need to go, Momma?"

"He's your daddy, Mikey. You should be there."

He wasn't happy, but Taylor had been nice to him and saved their lives. He knew she was right, but it still made him feel uneasy. Mike had been so active and full of life. He didn't want to see his father this way. Sarah wasn't eager either, but she'd loved him since they were children. She realized it now. Maybe she never forgot. Mike Taylor had disappeared at the peak of their journey into parenthood, then fatefully reappeared to save them. He'd been there for them when needed most. Now, she knew she had loved him alone all those years, but it was a late realization. He'd said he loved her, and she should have said she loved him too. She should have fought for his affection.

Chad waited outside in a squad car to drive them. She didn't want to drive Taylor's truck, and Chad had volunteered. He and Taylor had been partners of a sort for three years. The action with Jagneaux christened their relationship in blood. Sarah urged Mike, Jr. "Come on, Mikey, time to go." It was a twenty-minute drive back to Cameron, and they didn't talk much, just about things Mike Taylor had done for them all.

It was noon time when they arrived. Sarah wore a black skirt and white blouse that Taylor had bought for her. It had been special to him. Chad walked with them.

Inside the ICU, Taylor was tied to monitors and IVs, unmoving. He'd been shot three times: in the back, leg, and hip. He'd lost a lot of blood, mostly from the leg wound, but was clinging to life. He had lingered near death for hours after arriving at the hospital. The attending doctor didn't think he'd live through the first operation to stop the bleeding. But here he was, alive, the bedside monitor quietly beeping away with a slow stable pulse.

Chad and Mike, Jr. stood back while Sarah went to him, taking his hand. His eyes stayed closed. Nurses had been touching and poking him for hours, and it wasn't until she kissed his cheek that he responded. It wasn't much, he just squeezed her hand gently – all the strength he could muster. His eyes opened a slit. It was magical.

She whispered, "I love you. I want you to know. I should have said it that night and never let you go."

He mouthed, "I love you ... only you."

"Do you remember what happened? Last night, the doctors tried to get you to talk, but you couldn't."

"I remember Nicky. What happened to Nicky?" He was weak and couldn't say more.

Chad stepped beside Sarah. "Ms. Bryant is okay, Mike. She's in our jail. I told her you survived, and she said she was sorry for everything.

"You saved her life, buddy. You took three rounds meant for her. None were mine. The Marshalls emptied their weapons before realizing you'd jumped on front. It happened so fast. You were in the line of fire before they could hold fire." Chad smiled, adding, "You were really stupid. You know, you could have died."

Taylor curled his lips slightly, "Yeah ... stupid. I bet the boss is pissed."

Chad continued. "I don't know, Mike, you did a gutsy thing, I figure he thinks you've been punished enough. Besides, you need to get better before he can reprimand you."

Chad moved away. "Come on, Junior. Let's go find something horrible to snack on."

After they left, Sarah said, "So, you're gonna get better, we need you."

Case Destroyed

The DEA case fell apart before going to court. It was a disaster. Years of infiltration, millions spent on clandestine drug deals, all for nothing. The few live crips who hadn't been at the ambush were released for lack of evidence. There were no witnesses against them. Amanda, Leroy & his sister, and Johnny Jagneaux were all dead. Dom Rodriguez could at least rest his conscience that Amanda Bryant's real killer was also dead. It was bitter consolation after so many years of work and sacrifice.

After ten days, Taylor was released in frail condition to recuperate at home. It would be several weeks before he could even consider going back to work. He had surgical drains in his chest and hip, and would require a joint replacement when fully recovered. Until then, he would walk with a limp. Sarah would be his caregiver while insurance would pay for a nurse visit each day. He had a slight fever and would be taking antibiotics for another week. He refused prescription pain medications and would survive with Advil, if necessary. He didn't think he'd need it.

Over the next week, Sarah took wonderful care of him, and Mike, Jr. like having his father around. Taylor would sleep often due to the antibiotics, but couldn't help thinking about Nicky, locked away, scared and depressed. He didn't recall anything about the shooting. Chad had been stopping by most days before work. He told Taylor the whole sequence. It worried Taylor, despite his injuries, that Nicky was locked in a cell, away from Millie, her family and friends.

He shouldn't have cared, but he couldn't blame her for anything. He knew she had needed to avenge Amanda. The feds weren't going to do anything to Jagneaux. They'd offered him a sweet deal. She didn't mean to hurt anyone else. She had no idea it could happen the way it did. She just wanted justice for Amanda. She knew she'd be locked up or even killed but didn't care. She just knew that Jagneaux killed Amanda and was going to walk away.

For Taylor, there wasn't any conflict now. He loved Sarah. He probably always did, but it was crystal clear now. In the hospital, it was thoughts of her that had kept him going. She'd said she loved him, which solidified the deal. Whatever it took, he would convince her to stay with him. He wanted to marry her and adopt Mike, Jr. They were together again, and he would do everything in his power to be sure they would never part again.

After two more weeks, Taylor was able to walk on his own, limping around the apartment, using a cane, and lounging by the pool, usually as Mike, Jr. played in the water. It was peaceful and recovery was going well. The nurse wasn't necessary after the first week, Sarah had everything under control. She'd even learned to drive his truck to the market. It seemed wrong to enjoy the time away from work, so many bad things had happened, but he couldn't deny it. It was like a vacation. He and Sarah had slept together. There was no sex, he was still too injured, but they cuddled and talked. There was no question they were fully committed to be together, forever.

Chad still came by most days, filling Taylor in on work and filled in details about the shooting. They were stressed at the office without him there, but everyone had taken parts of his responsibilities. They all expected him to return soon. At some point, they would also talk about Nicky. Chad assured Taylor that she was doing okay under the circumstances. She'd been indicted on a murder charge and some lesser things and pleaded innocent through advice from her lawyer, a woman from the public defender's office. According to Chad, she would have pleaded guilty, except she wanted the chance, however small, to see her daughter again. Chad was obviously spending time with her, talking through her cell bars.

Taylor commented, "You mean she admitted killing Jagneaux to you? That's crazy, you're a witness against her. Why would her lawyer let her do that."

Chad responded. "Don't worry partner, I won't say anything. I talk to her a lot at night, you know, when nothing much is happening. I tell her it's off the record, and I mean it."

"Chad, you don't have a choice if you're called to testify, you're the law."

"Look, Mike, I try to see her every day, just to cheer her up a little. She needs the contact. She's not a bad person; she just lost control for a split second."

"It wasn't that. She thought this through. She bought the gun and planned to shoot that guy in broad daylight."

"You can't be sure she was planning this."

"Look, brainiac, I told her about the exchange. I also said the feds gave Jagneaux a deal. She bought a gun just for what she did."

"You told her, Mike? Why did you do that?"

"It was an accident, Chad. I couldn't take her to the airport. I told her why. It was a slip; I never thought she would do something like this. I'm as responsible as she is."

"Okay, buddy. I see the problem. She's really depressed. She's not a killer; she just did something crazy because she loved her sister. You and I could really make this case against her."

Taylor thought about their discussion all afternoon and into the night. He still cared for Nicky, and didn't want to abandon her. He explained it to Sarah that night. She surprised him, saying, "You need to go see her."

The following morning, Taylor put on his uniform and kissed Sarah. He was going to the office as a visitor, not yet ready for duty. It was the first time he'd driven his truck since being shot. He didn't wear his duty belt with his gun; it interfered with his cane and hurt his hip. When he entered the building, May and the Sheriff were delighted to see him. Nobody wanted to talk about the shooting, although it had been headline news a couple weeks earlier. They just wanted to hear how he was doing. After a couple minutes standing awkwardly, he asked the Sheriff for a private moment.

Inside the Sheriff's office with the door closed, Taylor asked, "Gay, I want to talk to her."

"That's not gonna happen, Mike. She's a killer and you're a witness. The DA would crucify me for allowing it. Her attorney would need to be there."

"Gay, listen, I know it's a problem, and you shouldn't be hurt. I'll do whatever it takes to prevent that, but it's important to me. I drove here on my own. I want some private time. Don't you think you can give me that?"

"Mike, Deputy Taylor, it's a hell of a risk."

"I know, boss. But I also know that it can be kept secret. Chad isn't on duty yet, and May won't talk. Hell, you could give May a long lunch off, I'll even pay for it."

The Sheriff thought for a few moments, then relented. "Okay, Mike, give me a moment with May, then you can take the prisoner's lunch into her. But, you cannot discuss the case – do you understand?"

"Ah, yessir, scouts' honor."

"Oh, and by the way, we're having trouble with the camera system, damn thing keeps crapping out, then comes back on mysteriously. Would you look at it and see if you can fix it."

Taylor stood up. "Can do, boss, I'll see what I can figure out."

May was excused early for a long lunch and told to take the whole hour away from the office. If she was suspicious of anything, she didn't comment. Taylor switched off the video system in the jail and went inside with a lunch tray.

There were two cells at the Parish office, and they were almost always empty. Nicky was alone in the far unit, lying on the bunk reading a magazine. She didn't look at him initially. "Chad, you're early, what's on the menu today?"

"Hello, Nicky."

She looked up, stunned. She didn't know how to react at first. Then she stood and rushed to the bars.

"Mike! Oh, Mike, do you hate me? The cane! Are you in much pain? Chad told me about ... about your wounds. I'm so sorry." She cried.

Against protocol, he put his hand through the bars and touched the side of her head, stroking her hair. She broke down. "Mike, I..."

"Shhh, don't worry about it, Nicky. You didn't shoot me, and you sure didn't intend to shoot the marshal. We're both okay."

"Mike, the cane. I'm so sorry."

"This? I'm just getting old. Doc says I can have a new hip in a couple of months and I'll be as good as new as long as I stay away from metal detectors and strong magnets."

"How can you be funny about this? You almost died. Chad tells me everything."

"Really, who's watching the Parish at night?"

"You know what I mean; he only comes in around meal time and sometimes later if I'm awake. I sleep all day long, so I don't really sleep. The only people I see are my lawyer and Chad. He's really nice."

"Careful, you might be falling for another guy in uniform."

She was serious again. "No, I know what trouble I'm in. I could be on death row soon enough. Chad knows that. He's just being nice."

"Well, don't give up easy, you gotta fight this."

"Fight what, I murdered a man and two other good guys got shot because of me. I deserve whatever the judge gives me."

"Look, Nicky, I sit in court a lot and it's not easy to get a conviction for murder, especially if the defendant fights."

"You're sweet, Mike. I really do love you, but my free life is over."

The Sheriff walked in to signal time was over, then left. Taylor concluded. "Look, whatever you think, you've got some friends out here. Jagneaux got what's coming to him. Us law enforcement types don't like to see murderers walk. You stopped him."

"Yeah, and I became a murderer doing it."

"Look, Nicky, I'll come see you again."

She smiled sweetly, "In court, at least, you can tell the jury how you got shot."

"You might be surprised." He left without looking at her again. She was right about almost everything.

Taylor left the office as a midday storm began unleashing torrential rain. His instinct was to run for the truck, but his body would never allow it. He was soaked to the bone, driving home. Sarah was already preparing something that smelled awesome for supper. They talked about his visit, and Sarah understood, completely, how he felt for Nicky. She was never going to be a threat to their relationship again. She would always be a special friend in or out of jail. Sarah was okay with it.

Chad stopped by the next afternoon and they sat by the pool, drinking sweet tea in the shade. He was in full uniform but accustomed to the heat of early fall weather in Louisiana. He'd grown up in a house without air conditioning. He said, "I talked to Nicky last night."

"You did, huh, kinda becoming a habit with you two?"

"It's not like that, Mike. She's nice, and she's lonely." It was obvious to Taylor that Chad felt more deeply than he was admitting. Nicky had had that same effect on him and he knew the look. After some weeks alone in her cell, Chad was her only companion. As much as Taylor had lingering feelings for her, he was glad that Chad had entered the scene. He was a great guy, rock solid, a better match for Nicky even than he.

"Taking advantage?"

"Oh, of course not!"

"Why not?"

"Well, for one, she's behind bars. Then, she's going up the river and I'm a sheriff, not much of a formula for a future."

"You were there, Chad, what did you see?"

"I saw the same as you, Taylor."

"I don't remember anything. I was too busy being shot by my fellow men in blue."

"Next time, -- duck. Seriously, Mike, I can't testify against her."

"You won't have a choice, pal, and both Federal Marshals will be called too. The DA'll call all of you."

"Not really. The Feds won't testify. They've abandoned the case, something about protecting the DEA."

"What would Marshals know about the DEA?"

"I don't know, except the word I get is that the Government doesn't want Jagneaux exposed ... don't want anyone knowing how they operate?

"What are you saying? They won't testify?"

"They just say: 'we know nothing'."

"You gotta be kidding me. Is this for real? The whole case boils down to you and me?"

"That's the word, but the DA is the only one who knows for sure ... you been deposed yet?"

"No. I guess they figure I'm too traumatized, gotta wait 'til I get well enough."

"You look good enough to me, got any lingering psychoanalytic problems from being shot three times?"

They both chuckled, then Taylor went on. "Chad, it's all on you, man. I don't remember anything."

"Look, Mike, that's not fair. You gotta tell what you saw. I can't be the one putting her away."

In fact, Taylor was really completely blank about that morning.

Chad left and Taylor sat quietly. Sarah joined him but Taylor didn't say much. He had too much on his mind.

The next morning, Taylor called the DA's office and talked to the Assistant DA, Marsha Goldberg. "I'm Mike Taylor, the Cameron deputy who got shot during the prisoner exchange with the feds. I want to know what's going on with the Bryant murder case."

"How are you feeling, Deputy?"

"I'm fine, so what's going on?"

"When can we meet? I need to get your facts for the record."

"Look, I can meet any time, when do you want?"

They agreed to meet in the DA's office the next morning at nine-thirty. Taylor went alone. They met in her conference room after getting coffee. Goldberg was out of place in Louisiana. It was obvious to Taylor that she'd come from somewhere on the east coast, north of Virginia. She was middle-aged and not particularly attractive, tall, gray, overweight and probably took the job because there were no other opportunities for her back home. She wouldn't play well in front of a jury of locals. On the other hand, the defendant, Nicky, was also a "foreigner."

"So, Ms. Goldberg, what's going on in the case?"

She had a stern look. "Let's just say it's in flux. Do I understand you had a romantic relationship with the defendant, Miss Bryant?"

"I wouldn't call it romantic. We're friends."

"Wasn't she living with you?"

"No, she stayed with me briefly while the DEA was hounding her. You must know why she came down here. The Feds were intimidating her, so I took her in."

"Well, that's part of the problem with the case. The DEA is refusing to divulge any details at all."

"Then how did you conclude that she lived with me?"

"I got the information from the defendant and her attorney. In fairness, she only said she got to know you on her sister's case and that you had let her stay at your apartment. I just assumed it was romantic."

"Well, stop assuming. Why am I telling this to an ADA?"

She sipped coffee and wrote something down. "Look, you're an officer of the law. You took an oath. So, what I say doesn't leave here. You got that?"

"Yeah, I get it."

"I needed to know where you stand. Most of the evidence is ... well, there isn't much. All we know for sure is that Ms. Bryant brought a weapon on Sheriff's property."

"What?"

"Her attorney put clamps on her. I think she was willing to admit attempting to shoot a suspect in your custody, but she didn't, so we need to build the case. I needed to know your relationship with the defendant."

"Okay, so is it clear? We don't have a romance. I live with my girlfriend. She's also a friend of Nicky's, Miss Bryant. She'll back up my story."

"Well, then we have a problem."

"What's that?"

"Our case for murder is non-existent."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Ah, I still don't get it." He didn't want to build up expectations, but he was confused. "She had the gun, there was a lot of gunfire. I gather that Jagneaux was killed. I wasn't conscious at the time, so it's just what I heard."

"Yes, there was a lot of gunfire, but there's no proof about who shot anyone. The Feds admit shooting, but there's no proof Ms. Bryant shot anyone. Right now, the only thing I can try her on is illegally carrying a loaded weapon, and even that's in question. I could try to prove she threatened the Marshals with a gun, but they won't testify without a subpoena and that would be reluctantly. We could probably pressure them if we threatened them with a charge for shooting you, but you'd need to corroborate some evidence like Ms. Bryant's threatening manner or the way she held the gun – or something."

This was unbelievable. "I don't remember any of it. What did the others say?"

"Well, the Federal Marshals gave statements that they discharged their weapons multiple times, nobody seems to know how many. The Deputy, Messer, said he didn't shoot. Ms. Bryant's gun also had been fired recently, but no one could remember if she fired or not in all the confusion. She showed the gun at a critical moment, and the officers reacted as they are trained in less than a second. Three people were shot, Mr. Jagneaux, you, and one of the Marshals who received a grazing wound in the leg."

"So, what does ballistics prove?"

"Well, there isn't any, except the reports from all of the officers showing twelve bullets fired in total, slightly less than full magazines. That doesn't account for Ms Bryant's gun, which had a full magazine, except for one missing round. It can't be proved that it was fired that morning or even days before. Investigators couldn't find a shell casing that could be specifically traced to her gun. Her attorney is saying she was delivering the gun to the Sheriff's office for destruction and dropped everything when the shooting began. There's even a veiled threat of a suit by the defendant for excessive force."

"How about bullets? You know, trace evidence."

"None. The bullet that killed Mr. Jagneaux and subsequently grazed the Marshal went through and was lost. All the wounds could have been by police, but we don't know. There could have been a sniper somewhere who shot Mr. Jagneaux, but there's no evidence. The only bullet that was recovered came from your body. All the others missed or went through and disappeared. The bullet recovered from your surgery didn't match the Bryant gun."

Taylor felt energized. "So, let me get this straight. If I was the defense lawyer, I could argue that all the bullets were fired by police and maybe some unseen shooter who could have killed Jagneaux? Or maybe one of the marshals shot Jagneaux by accident during the melee."

"Yes, I don't believe it, but I can't prove otherwise. I'm sorry, Deputy, but we don't have a strong case without something from you or more from the Marshals."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"It's not up to me, but I expect the defense lawyer will motion for dismissal for lack of evidence. After that, it's up to the judge."

"Will you argue against dismissal?"

"Well, that's partially up to you. Since you were the most grievously hurt, aside from Mr. Jagneaux, you have a right to be there and be heard."

He paused. "Well, I can't really say much, I don't remember anything about that morning. The docs say it's common to forget everything after severe trauma. That's me."

"You know, Deputy, this might mean that a killer walks away."

"I know, Ms. Goldberg. I guess we just need to trust in the wisdom of the court."

He left, unbelievably uplifted. He couldn't tell anyone. Once home, he told Sarah that he was forbidden by the DA's office from discussing the case. He said the same thing to Chad and the Sheriff. He didn't want to see Nicky before trial for fear that he'd say something that could hurt her case or change her plea.

Trial

It didn't take long, only two months to get on the docket. Discovery was completed quickly and the defense had been given all the testimony from depositions by witnesses – there wasn't anything useful to the prosecution. The entire case was presumptive and circumstantial with the District Attorney's office building on Nicky's mental state after Amanda's murder. It would be a circuitous argument at best, with no physical evidence linking her gun to the victim.

Nicky and Chad continued talking during nights at the jail, trying to avoid anything serious; expecting Nicky to be going to prison. It hadn't worked. Nicky came to Louisiana and fell in love with one Southern boy. She transferred those feelings to another. Both men were deputies, both similar. Chad saw her every day, including the days he was off duty, but always seemed to have paperwork that needed finishing. He started adding small things to her meals, single flowers, chocolates, and even some poems he wrote. He brought her books and magazines. Over time, he knew more about Millie than Taylor did. Her face brightened whenever he came to see her.

Nicky's attorney visited infrequently after the first weeks. There wasn't anything new to discuss before trial. It was just a matter of scheduling at the courthouse. It was nerve wracking, but the attorney assured Nicky that the prosecutor's case was weak at best. Nicky refused to believe any of it. She was guilty of something, maybe even for killing Jagneaux. In all the chaos, she couldn't remember if she'd actually fired the gun. She had taken careful aim, but guns had started firing and she was tackled. She couldn't remember firing, except that Jagneaux was hit by someone and it was most likely her. She was also guilty of causing Taylor's wounds. That was reason enough, in her mind, for her to go to prison.

Chad was grief-stricken on the morning of the trial, fearful of the worst. His jailhouse girlfriend was being tried for murder. There wouldn't be any more meetings at her cell. One way or the other, her time in the Cameron jail would be over when the verdict was given. He knew the statistics. There was a ninety-plus percent chance that he'd never see her after the trial. Nicky had tried to console him.

On the morning of the trial, another deputy drove her to the courthouse with Chad as passenger. He wished he could hold her hand to calm her – and him. He'd been there for the shooting. He couldn't remember her firing or anything else during the conflict other than shoving Jagneaux and watching Taylor. It crushed him to think he could be called to testify.

Taylor and Sarah entered the courtroom, sitting near the back. Nicky would enter from a holding room near the defense table. After releasing the prisoner to the bailiff, Chad sat with them, against department policy. He was supposed to return to the office once the bailiff took control of the "prisoner" and wait until called as a witness. But this was now personal to him and he didn't care if the Sheriff didn't like it. When Nicky entered the courtroom, she didn't look around. Nicky didn't see Taylor and Sarah and didn't know Chad had stayed. She sat beside her attorney at the defense table with her head down, obviously petrified. Her parents had arrived the night before and sat behind her looking gravely ahead, sometimes placing a comforting hand on the rail behind their daughter.

The judge entered from her chambers and everything went silent. The jury had been selected and seated. Tension was high, as it always was in a capital case. The press filled most of the front rows, not wanting to miss a word. The opening statements would set the stage and the journalists wanted it all, word for word. When everyone was seated, the judge asked Goldberg if she was ready to proceed, which she acknowledged. Then the defense attorney stood. "Your honor, after careful review of the material provided by the DA's office, we want to enter a Motion for Dismissal on the basis that there is no evidence directly linking my client to any of the more serious crimes. If the prosecutor wishes to proceed on the count for misdemeanor weapon on public property, we are prepared to defend against it. All of this is based on the flimsy evidence offered by the prosecution."

The judge read the motion silently. It wasn't a large document. It took less than five minutes for her to ask the prosecutor for her comments. There was some dialogue back and forth with the judge and occasionally with the defense. When it was apparent that the judge might rule in favor of the defense, the prosecutor meekly stated that the case could proceed if the memories of two Cameron deputies had improved. The judge then asked it the deputies were present and for each to approach the rail separately. All eyes were on them as both, in sequence, stated that they had no new recollections beyond their depositions.

Goldberg then stated for the record that she had expected the motion and did not object. She apologized to the court for rushing to indictment based on a presumption that more damaging materials would be forthcoming from the federal government. When it didn't come, the DA's office regretted the waste of everybody's time. With this, the judge ruled in favor of the defense and released the case with prejudice. Nicky stared at the bench, stunned. Chad's head fell back, then forward, clasping two tight fists on his thighs.

There was an immediate buzz of activity as reporters rushed to report the news. A capital crime in their Parish was big news, and this one was thrown out without a single word of testimony. The judge gaveled for quiet! "Ms. Bryant, you are free to go with the apologies of this court. Case closed, court adjourned."

Nicky slumped, unable to move for several moments, then she hugged her lawyer. She turned and hugged her parents. Everyone was crying. Then she saw her three supporters sitting in the back. Chad waved. Taylor and Sarah smiled. It took several minutes for the aisles to clear. Chad went to her, and they embraced for the first time.

Epilogue

Taylor was back at work two weeks later. He had a slight limp, but felt fully functional otherwise. He wouldn't win any foot races, but that might change in the future with a new hip. He finished his first shift quickly. It felt good to be back. Chad came in for the night shift, and they reviewed the log together, which was essentially empty.

Chad asked, "So, Mike, how's it feel to be back?"

"Chad, I love being at home with Sarah. I asked her to marry me, and she accepted."

"You gonna go to Jamaica or Vegas or somewhere to elope?"

"No, we're having a civil ceremony at the courthouse, in a couple weeks."

"Wow, that's quick."

"Not really, it's taken eleven years. I hope you can be there as a witness, and we'll have a small reception afterward at my place."

"Who all's invited, your parents ... her parents?"

"Nope, neither -- just friends."

"So, when's the date?"

"We're working with the clerk now. We'll know soon."

"Not less than ten days, I hope."

"Why?"

"I'm going on vacation tonight."

"Where? You never go on vacation. You're the only bachelor I know who would rather spend a quiet week alone, working on his boat, than going somewhere far away."

Chat showed a huge smile, "Nicky invited me to come meet my future stepdaughter in Maine."

***END***

