Going Home (The Green Bayou Novels Book 1) Read online

  “I’m okay. Kent issues again,” I answer.

  “Ah, shit,” she mumbles, disappearing into the crowd. Pete, looking quite concerned, joins me inside. Connie’s right behind him.

  “What’s wrong, baby?” he asks.

  “When I left the bathroom to go outside, Kent was waiting for me in the kitchen, and he tried kissing me. I had a hard time fighting him off.” I show Pete my wrists, and he goes ballistic.

  “I’ll kill him!”

  I put my hands on his chest to keep him from running out of the door. “No Pete, please! Listen. He’s drunk and needs to sleep it off. Jacob was in here when it happened, and everything is okay now. I promise.” Pete’s expression softens only slightly.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, touching one of my wrists.

  “I’m sure, Pete. Let’s just try to enjoy the rest of the night.”

  “Okay, baby,” he says, though his face still shows uncertainty. Connie put her arm around my shoulder.

  “She’s okay. Come on. I got this. Let’s get you a stiff drink to calm those nerves,” she says as we walk outside.

  “Oh, gosh. You sound like Celeste,” I say with a chuckle.

  “Your mom is great. I loved getting to meet her at Christmas dinner.” She pours a shot of whiskey into a cup and hands it to me. “Here, it’ll make you feel better.” I down it.

  “Connie, do you know where Bert is?” Pete asks. She points toward the boathouse, and Pete nods.

  “Emily, I want you and Connie to stay here, okay?” he insists.

  “Why? What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Kent’s at it again,” Pete explains. I start to fret, but a cool and calm Connie takes control.

  “Go get Bert and y’all handle up on that.” She turns her gaze to me. “Want another shot?” Connie questions without missing a beat.

  “No, thanks. I’m good.” She fixes a fresh drink anyway. I watch as Pete talks to Bert, then my face flushes when Bert and Pete make their way across the yard to Kent, who’s once again harassing some poor woman. Based on their body language, angry words are exchanged, and Kent throws down his plastic cup, liquid splashing everywhere. He storms off towards the front of the house but freezes mid-stride. He turns and yells something at the guys, but Connie and I can’t make it out.

  Bert points to signal for him to keep walking, and Kent shoots him the middle finger. Once they’re satisfied he’s actually gone, Bert and Pete make their way to the bar to join us.

  “You okay, girlie?” Bert asks. He’s still pumped up because his dilated pupils make his green eyes look black.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks, Bert,” I say. “What happened out there?”

  “Oh, not much. He’ll sleep it off. Pete called Alphonse to come get him and bring him home. It’s not like Alphonse had much else to do.” Bert says, smiling. He wraps his arms around a surprised Connie. “Let’s cut a rug, my love!” he says, kissing her passionately when he drags her to the dance area.

  Evidently adrenaline acts as an aphrodisiac for the men of APSO. Pete, dipping his head to nuzzle my neck, steers me backwards towards the patio doors.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, grinning.

  “Inside to talk.” He waggles his eyebrows.

  “But our guests. We can’t just leave them.”

  “Why not?” He pushes his body even closer to mine, and I’m instantly turned on. The door closes behind us, and he lifts me so I can wrap my legs around his waist, and I kiss him savagely. Oh, the hell with our guests!

  He carries me into the large pantry and slams the door behind us. Once I’m propped on the edge of the long buffet, he eagerly pulls back the edges of the wrap dress I’m wearing. I throw my head back as his mouth wanders across every inch of newly exposed flesh.

  He doesn’t bother with sliding down my undergarments; instead he rips off my panties. I gasp when he finds his way inside me, and together we frantically search for sweet release. It’s aggressive, frantic, and more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced. My back presses against the far wall, and my screams are silenced by Pete’s mouth. His orgasm isn’t far behind mine, and the prolonged grunt he lets out tells me it is as good for him as it was for me.

  Trying to slow my breathing, I bend over to pick up my panties then pull my dress closed. Pete’s zipping his pants when I sashay towards him. With a sated grin, he pulls me in for a kiss and holds me firmly against his body.

  “You’re my woman, and nobody’s going to take you away from me. Do you hear me?” With a broad grin, he lightly taps the tip of my nose with his fingertip.

  “I do,” I answer, running my fingers through his hair to smooth it down. “We need to get outside, Pete. People are probably wondering what happened to us.”

  “I’m sure they can figure it out,” he teases, walking away from me.

  “Pete!” I yell after him as I adjust my dress. “That’s not funny. Do you think they know?” He’s already to the back door and nearly to the backyard.

  “Look.” He holds the door open for me. “Just in time for the fireworks.”

  9

  Life resumes its hectic pattern after the New Year’s blowout. There’s some tension among Bert, Pete, and Kent for a while, but they manage to work it out. Kent even goes so far as to stop by the station in Bienville to apologize for his behavior. Jacob and I accept his apology, but it isn’t with much enthusiasm. I don’t like his attitude towards women, and I like it even less when he drinks.

  February rolls around, and all focus is on Mardi Gras, which will be celebrated in a few weeks. How I love Mardi Gras! There are fancy gala balls and exciting parades, plus all the King Cake a person can eat.

  Pete hasn’t enjoyed a Mardi Gras since starting work with APSO. It’s all hands on deck because of the limited number of deputies combined with the overwhelming increase in parade related incidents. It’s guaranteed someone will go to jail for indecent exposure, and that someone will go to the hospital for falling off a float in a drunken stupor. Working parades is no fun.

  In the Green Bayou area, town’s people join krewes, and these krewe members ride on floats, tossing beads and other novelties to the rambunctious crowds. Spectators line the streets yelling, “Throw me something, mister!” School bands play music, and many spectators drink copious amounts of alcohol.

  Some tailgate along the parade route to “save a good spot,” and smoke from the bar-b-que grills permeate the area. I’m glad I’m not in New Orleans this year because that’s where the real chaos occurs. Nonetheless, I’m excited for the upcoming festivities.

  As for today, it’s been pretty boring, and Jacob repeatedly begs for a call—any call. I won the movie night theme choice, and of course I pick romantic comedies. Hour after hour of sappy lovefest, and he’s left with no choice but to suck it up. I notice all the eye rolling and enjoy every second of it, too.

  Jacob is relieved when around midnight the phone rings, and the dispatcher tells us to be en route to mile marker 71, bayou-side, in response to a car in the marsh. I grumble as I pull on my boots. “Oh, you just had to have a call, right? Because rom-coms are so terrible. It’s still cold outside, and now we have to get all wet and dirty. I claim first shower right now, sucker!” I yell to Jacob.

  “You can’t do that. The rules clearly state the shower can’t be claimed until the unit is parked, and both employees have crossed the threshold.”

  “Yeah, well park this. I get the first shower.” I shove my middle finger into the air.

  “Oh, I’m telling Celeste,” Jacob teases.

  “Why do people threaten to call my mother when things don’t go their way?” The engine of the ambulance roars when Jacob starts it up, and I tuck in my shirt before getting into the passenger seat. I announce to the dispatcher that Bienville-one is ten-eight to mile marker 71.

  Jacob starts down the highway, and I flip on the emergency lights. The red and white lights splay alternating patterns onto the Spanish moss laden trees lining
the dark, eerie bayou. A wispy fog kisses the top of the water, and the light from the moon makes the visible patches look like black glass. Making things even creepier, no cars pass in either direction. We hit mile marker 70, and Jacob slows the unit. Halfway between that marker and the huge curve in the road that is marker 71, we see flashing lights.

  Two deputies stand outside their car looking towards the bayou. Jacob announces our arrival to dispatch, and I stop the flashing lights to put on hazards since the strobes make it difficult to see at night.

  Peering past the responders and their equipment, I notice the car hasn’t actually gone into the bayou but has bounced off a few trees to settle right on the edge of the water. Bert walks up to us, flashlight in hand.

  “Hey guys. We have one in the car,” he says, pointing his light toward the driver’s side window of the wrecked vehicle. “We have one over there, too. I don’t think there’s much you can do for that one.” Bert points his flashlight at a lump on the ground a good fifteen feet or so from the vehicle.

  I check the car’s windshield and notice a gaping hole where the victim had been ejected when the car struck one of the trees.

  “You want to check the one in the car, while I confirm death on the other one?” Jacob asks.

  I nod, and we go to the ambulance to get our respective equipment. Kent wedges himself behind me at the side door of the unit.

  “Emily, let me carry that for you.” He takes my equipment from me before I get the chance to respond.

  “Uhhh, okay. Thanks,” I say, half-heartedly.

  I pull on a pair of disposable gloves, drape my stethoscope around my neck, and follow Kent to the car. An unconscious woman is slumped on the seat. Ideally, I’d go in through the passenger door, but since the car teeters on the bayou’s edge, I try manhandling the driver’s door open. It’s stuck fast.

  Kent nudges me out of the way, and within seconds, he has the door open. I reach into the car to unlock the back door, and it opens right away. Trying not to get cut by the shattered glass that lay all over the seat, I climb inside to assess the patient.

  “Miss, can you hear me?” I question.

  I know she probably can’t, but I keep trying anyway. A sinking feeling fills the pit of my stomach when I move her hair away from her face. Thick clots of congealed blood intertwine in the brown mass. I hear a faint cough.

  As soon as Jacob peers into the driver’s side window, I tell him to get the stretcher. Once she’s freed from the wreckage, I realize my patient is Sarah’s sister, Cherie. She reeks of alcohol and cigarettes and is starting to regain consciousness.

  “Cherie, don’t move. You’ve been in an accident. We’re going to take you to the hospital now,” I say.

  She tries to thrash around, and I repeatedly remind her not to move. We get her into the ambulance and assess her condition. Jacob checks her pupils and head area, while I listen to her lungs. Her skin, at least the parts of it that aren’t covered in blood, is grayish-blue. She no longer squirms and her breathing is quite labored.

  After cutting off her shirt, I put my stethoscope to her chest and listen carefully.

  “I’ve got nothing on the right. She’s dropped a lung,” I announce.

  When I looked up at Jacob, he’s ready to intubate to help her breathe. After prepping the appropriate site, I slide a large gauged catheter into place, slap on a chest seal to secure the hub, and listen again.

  “Let’s go! Get me to the hospital yesterday,” I announce to Jacob.

  The bumpy ride to the hospital seems to take forever, but that’s usually the case when transporting a critically injured patient. I squeeze a bag rhythmically to force air into her lungs, all the while watching the heart monitor for signs of other potential problems. Jacob stops the unit on the hospital’s emergency ramp, and I notice one of the deputies pull his car right behind us. I’m a little disappointed to see Kent climb out of the car instead of Bert, but regardless, I have a patient in my care. Dr. and Nurse Ancient are on staff tonight, so I give a report while Jacob helps us to get her shifted onto the hospital’s stretcher.

  “Why don’t you call for some recovery time?” he suggests once I’ve finished talking. At first I’m confused, but if I look half as grimy as he does, we most certainly need it.

  “You realize who she is, don’t you?” I ask Jacob.

  “The woman from Chaisson’s, right?” Jacob questions.

  “Yep. I wonder if I should call Pete to let him know about it.”

  “That’s up to you, sweetheart. She’s pretty messed up. Maybe he can help the hospital get in touch with her family?” Jacob suggests.

  “I’m sure Bert or one of the other deputies has already told him about it. I wonder what happened to her. Did you recognize the DOA?”

  “Whoever he is, he’s pretty messed up. I haven’t seen one like that in years.” He stops what he’s doing to stare me down. “You know, I’ve been saying that a lot since I started working with you.”

  “Yeah, I hear ya. You’re going to give me a complex. Well, we’ll put all the pieces together later. I’m going to call dispatch,” I announce, walking away from Jacob.

  I make my way to the deserted nurses’ station to use the phone. Our dispatcher is sympathetic, and because it’s a quiet night for the other crews, she tells me to take an entire hour to rest and clean up. I thank her sincerely, and when I turn to leave, I nearly collide with the Kent.

  Smiling awkwardly, I try to dodge him, but when I go left, he goes right, and vice versa. I accidentally drop my stethoscope onto the ground as I grow flustered. Kent bends to pick it up, staying on one knee as he holds it out to me.

  “Emily, how many times do I need to apologize for New Year’s? It’s obvious you’re uncomfortable.”

  “It’s not that. I get a little jittery after intense calls,” I say, taking the stethoscope and looping it over my neck.

  “I can understand that. It was a pretty bad one. So, we’re good?” Kent asks.

  “Yeah, we’re good. I’m going to check on the patient,” I say as I walk away.

  “I’ll be down there in a minute to talk to the doc. I just need to make a quick phone call.”

  I wave to acknowledge that I heard him and find Jacob still ventilating the patient. He volunteers to remain behind until the air ambulance arrives to transfer Cherie to a trauma center. Kent pokes his head in the door.

  “I’m being sent to another call in Green Bayou, but I’ll be back as soon as it’s wrapped up to finish the accident report on this one,” he says.

  The doctor looks up from the chest tube he’s securing long enough offer a nod to the departing deputy. Jacob suggests I go on ahead to the station and get cleaned up. “You did call first shower, after all,” he teases.

  “Yeah, but you also told me I violated the rules when I did that.”

  “Look, I’m being generous here,” Jacob says.

  I almost protest, but when I think about the cold shower I was stuck with last time, I say my goodbyes.

  I leave the ambulance at the hospital for Jacob to drive back when he finishes up with Cherie, opting to walk across the parking lot instead. I fish my station key out of my pocket, and since the only audience is the little critters hanging out in the cane fields, I rip my filthy shirt off before the door is closed. Rounding the corner to enter the hallway, a searing pain splinters through my head. I don’t have a chance to cry out before blackness envelopes me.

  My head is killing me, and the last thing I want to do is open my eyes. I try drifting back into unconsciousness, but my body refuses to let me go to the place where I feel no pain. I struggle to open one eye, and finally the other. My eyelids feel like they’re weighted with lead. Eventually, they stay open long enough for me to register dim light, but focusing becomes another long, drawn-out process.

  I make out the shabby wooden planks and beams on the ceiling. The pain throbbing through my head is tremendous, and I don’t want to move. I have no idea where I am, so after
mentally counting to three, I force myself to look right.

  A dirty, old couch sits under a small curtained window. Nothing looks familiar, so I force myself look left. There’s an open door, and through it, a tiny bathroom. Below a second window sit a mini-refrigerator and microwave. The entire building can’t be much bigger than a large shed. I try to raise my head, and finally catch a glimpse of something I do recognize.

  Slumped in the far left corner of the room lies Jacob. His eyes are closed as if he’s sleeping, and his head hangs in an awkward position. I try slinging my feet over the side of the dingy bed I’m lying on to get to him. Reality hits like a ton of bricks. We’re being held hostage! My right foot is restrained by a makeshift shackle, and I frantically follow the chain links connected to the shackle down to a metal U bolted into the floor. I pull and yank on the chain, praying it will give way or possibly unlatch. Nothing happens.

  I try running to Jacob, but the chain stops short. I only have enough slack to get to the toilet and to the couch. I need to get to Jacob! I’m still dressed in the same clothes, a bra and tactical pants. My boots have been removed, and my feet are bare.

  When I bend to look at the shackle, I notice it’s not made of metal, but of a disposable braided nylon foot restraint like Pete carries in his unit. One circle of fabric is wrapped around my ankle, and the other is secured to the thick metal chain with a padlock. The harder I pull against it, the tighter it becomes. I stop tugging so I won’t lose circulation to my foot.

  Shears! My paramedic shears might still be in my pants. I quickly pat down my legs, but I’m let down. Everything has been removed from my pockets. I let out a sound that’s a cross between a sigh and a sob.

  “Jacob!” I yell, but he doesn’t respond. “Oh god! Please don’t be dead,” I mumble to myself. “Jacob!” I scream louder, hysteria rattling in my voice.

  When he finally stirs, I breathe a sigh of relief. It takes him a while to regain consciousness, and when he does, he’s angry.