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

  “You a good boy, Pete. I’ll give ya some time off if ya need. You’re a great deputy, but I need your head straight if ya gonna stick around here, son. Don’t need you going off all half-cocked and shit. Understand me?”

  “Understood. I’m good to go, and I appreciate it, sir. No time off necessary. Would you tell me which of her old co-workers called? Are there any other details?” I quiz, trying to play it cool. Inside I’m crumbling, but I have to appear resolute if I’m to remain privy to all of the information.

  “Nope. Gotta talk to Kent. He’s the one who called me up about half an hour ago telling me he was sitting in dispatch when the call came in. Actually, he said he answered the phone ‘cause the dispatcher was on break. He’s the one who took the call, so he’s who you need to be questioning.”

  I agree with the sheriff about that one. Kent’s name has been popping up quite often, and he’s been acting funny, too. I’m itching to get to him. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate all that you’ve done, and I’ll let you know if I need some time off.” I tap Bert’s shoulder to indicate we should leave. We shake hands with the sheriff before making the trek down the long white hallway.

  “We’ve gotta find Kent.” I’m seething and nearly barrel over Alphonse when turning the corner. I open my mouth to yell at him, but Alphonse speaks before I can do it.

  “Sorry about your girl. I really liked having Emily around,” Alphonse says as he plasters his thin body against the wall so Bert and I can pass.

  “Thanks,” I grumble.

  I quickly round the corner, and instead of taking a right to head out of the building, I go into the dispatcher’s cubicle. Kent’s still sitting inside.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the phone call?” I question, shoulders squared, and my face inches from Kent’s.

  “Back off, Pete,” Kent warns.

  I don’t heed his warning. In fact, I want nothing more than to slam him against the wall until he spills everything, but I know I can’t. Unwavering, I stare him dead in the eye. “You should have let me know, man.”

  “I did what I thought was right. You see how you’re running around all crazy and shit? That’s why I didn’t call you first!” Kent defends his actions.

  I feel in my gut that Kent bears some blame in Emily’s disappearance, but I can’t let him know I’m on to him. He’ll report me to the sheriff for being aggressive towards him, and that’ll be the end of it. Taking a deep breath, I step back and decide to try a new approach.

  I need to be less confrontational, play the distraught fiancé card. “You’re right. I’m sorry, man,” I say after moving back to sit on the dispatcher’s desk. “It’s just that I didn’t see this coming. Hell, maybe it’s all for the best. I suspected something might be going on with her and Jacob, but I kept telling myself I was just being jealous. I didn’t mean to take it out on you, Kent.” I finish, praying he’s buying it. Kent still looks a little unsure.

  “Come on, Bert. We need to get back on the road. Somebody’s gotta protect the parish, right? How long are you staying here?” I question Kent.

  “Not sure. Why?” he asks.

  “Nothing. Just being curious is all. You feeling any better? That pulled muscle you were telling me about must be better. You don’t seem to be hobbling quite as much.” I throw in as an afterthought.

  “It still hurts,” he says dryly.

  “I guess that puts you out of commission with the ladies for a while?” I question further.

  “Something like that, but it won’t be long. I have a feeling it’s gonna be real soon that I’ll be ready to go.” Kent smiles deviously.

  I nod and walk out of the dispatcher’s cubicle; Bert follows right behind me. When we get outside, I’m the first to talk.

  “Thanks for not saying anything back there when I gave him the line of bullshit. He knows something, doesn’t he? You see it too, right?”

  “Yeah, I agree. Something is definitely not right with him. What do we do?” Bert inquires.

  “I’m not sure. I figure he suspects we’re onto him. Whatever we decide, we have to be extra careful to not spook him. I may never see Emily again if that happens.” I’m just finishing my sentence when Alphonse exits the building. Perfect timing. A smile crosses my lips. “Alphonse, my buddy! How would you like to go on a super-secret mission?”

  “What are you doing?” Bert whispers, his brows furrowed.

  “Just go with it,” I whisper back. A broad smile beams across the gangly deputy’s face.

  “Really? Me? What do I need to do? You’re not gonna send me off on a wild goose chase or chain me to a tree and use me for bear bait? I’ve had that happen to me a bunch. I don’t like it,” he states.

  “Wait. What? Bear bait?”

  “They was just joking, it turns out. It sure took a long time to get all that honey outta my hair. I still got a bald patch here.” He starts to unbutton his shirt, and I stop him.

  “Who did that to you?” Bert asks.

  “Some teens I pulled over for speeding. It was all in good fun.”

  “Maybe you should call for back up whenever you make traffic stops from now on,” I say, shaking my head. “Look, you know me better than that. This is serious stuff, and I’ll tell you all about it, but not here. Meet me at the western exchange point in ten minutes, okay? Oh, and don’t tell anybody about this. None of it to anyone. Not even your uncle.” I try to sound both authoritative and suspenseful.

  “Sounds like some real movie-type shit.” Alphonse beams with excitement. “I’ll see you there! Ten minutes. And don’t worry, cause my lips are sealed! I ain’t tellin’ nobody!” he says enthusiastically. He jumps into his car and takes off.

  “Pete, Alphonse? Really?” Bert asks.

  He’s right. It’s a gamble, but it’s one I have to take if I want to rescue the love of my life. “He’s the only person I can think of who can fly under Kent’s radar. It’s worth a shot.”

  “I guess. Let’s go meet him before he pisses in his pants,” Bert says, shaking his head. “They chained him to a freaking tree and poured honey all over him.” He’s still shaking his head when he gets into his car. “Remind me to ask him how he got free when all of this is over.”

  We meet at the agreed upon spot. Alphonse is waiting near the hood of his car, notepad and pen in hand. I start feeding him information. “Okay Alphonse, this is what I need you to do. I want you to follow Kent around and let me know what he’s doing. I’m giving you special permission to go covert for this mission—totally tactical. Kent can’t know you’re watching him. It’s a very dangerous and important job. Do you think you can handle it?” I ask Alphonse. He’s so excited he practically foams from the mouth.

  “I can bust out with my night vision scope, my thermal imaging camera, ooohhh! ooohhh! My vehicle tracking system!” He starts telling me about all of the tactical gear he’s acquired over the years.

  “That’s real good, Alphonse. Sounds like you’ve got quite the collection. Use whatever you need. I trust you. Remember to call me on my cell phone with updates, okay?”

  “You got it. When do you want me to start?”

  “Right now, if you’re ready.”

  “First, we need to come up with code names. You can’t be talking to me on the cell phone and calling me Alphonse! It’ll ruin everything.”

  “Do you really think we need code names, Alphonse?”

  “Well, duh! Yes! Covert. Remember?”

  “Okay. Do you have any in mind?” I ask to appease him.

  “Oh! We could be thunder and lightning!” He shouts, and then pouts. “That leaves Bert out. Bert needs a name, too.”

  “Dude, I don’t need a name,” Bert bellows.

  “If you’re part of the team, you need a name,” Alphonse insists.

  “Yeah, Bert, if you’re part of the team, you need a name,” I tease.

  “Fine. What’s my name?”

  “I got it!” Alphonse yells. “What about butcher, baker, and candlestic
k maker?”

  “I call butcher,” Bert says.

  “Bullshit! Where did you come up with those names?” I ask.

  “I tried thinking of famous threes and the nursery rhyme came to mind. I really got it this time! Pete, you’re Green Bean, ‘cause you live in Greenleaf. I’m gonna be String Bean, on the account that I’m skinny. Bert, you’re gonna be Red Bean.”

  “Because I’m married to a red-head?” Bert asks.

  “No, ‘cause you scare me, and whenever you’re around my stomach gets all upset. Red beans give me the gas.” Bert lunges for Alphonse, who jumps behind me. I do my best to protect the gangly man from Bert’s wrath.

  “That’s enough! Stand down, Red Bean.”

  Bert grumbles, cutting Alphonse some eyes before stepping back a few feet.

  “Okay, String Bean. Your mission starts now,” I say.

  “I’m on it.” He runs towards his car but skids to a stop and runs back.

  “Should we synchronize watches?” he asks breathlessly. “We should synchronize our watches. They always synchronize watches in the movies,” Alphonse babbles.

  I humor him, and once our watches are set, Alphonse peels out. He’s so excited to be trusted with a mission that he never bothers to ask why I want him tailing Kent.

  I’m anxious and upset because there are no real leads guiding me to Emily, and I’m worried sick about her. I feel slight relief when Alphonse’s updates start rolling in. They distract me from the constant fear I’m too late in finding her alive. Update one, Kent’s at the gas station flirting with Roberta. Update two, Kent’s still messing around with Roberta. Update three, Kent’s pulled over a speeder. Update four, Kent’s getting a drink at the drive-in. Update five, Kent’s filling up his unit with fuel…and so they go on for the remainder of the night.

  “Hello there. This is String Bean with update fifteen. Is this Green Bean?

  “It is. Go ahead, String Bean.”

  “I’m getting off shift in a minute. Should the mission continue after I clock out?”

  “The mission would be considered unsuccessful if you did not, String Bean. That’s affirmative. You should continue on. If the bastard, Kent, is going to do anything, I’m sure it’ll be once his shift wraps.”

  “That’s a ten-four. I’ll keep the updates coming. String Bean out.”

  11

  EMILY

  “Jacob?” I call.

  I’m sure it’s getting close to daylight outside. He’s dozed off and on for quite a while and stirs slightly when he hears his name.

  “What?” he questions, weakly.

  “Do you think he’ll come back today?” I ask.

  “I don’t know, love,” Jacob says. “We need to think of something in case he does, though.”

  Drawing my knees to my chest, I nod. His hand over his wound, Jacob scoots as far as his chains will allow and reaches out as far as he can. He’s just able to touch the edge of the refrigerator door.

  “I’ve been thinking.” He grunts with pain when he stretches. “Most guys I know use floating camps as a place to get dirty stinking drunk while doing all the things they can’t do in public. Kent’s probably no different, so if I’m right…”

  He grimaces as his fingertips wedge in between the door of the refrigerator and the main module. He flips the door open with his middle finger, and the clanking of bottles in the door is an easily recognizable sound. He takes a few deep breaths before stretching himself even further; his contorted face shows he’s choking back his pain. Once he has one of the bottles in his hand, he groans and tosses it to me. It lands in the bed between my legs.

  “Smash it, Em, and use the glass to cut through the restraint around your ankle.”

  For the first time since the whole ordeal began, I have hope. I grab the neck of the bottle and bang it as hard as I can against the wooden nightstand. Warm beer and glass fly everywhere, but most importantly, I have many usable shards. I stick a finger between the restraint and my skin, and then go to work sawing through the nylon. Even though I gash myself a few times, I refuse to give up. Finally, the material snaps, and I’m free!

  I launch out of bed, but have to stop mid-stride to regain my balance. I shouldn’t have moved that quickly. I fall to my knees and crawl over to the corner to assess Jacob. Taking his cold, pale face in my palms, I force him to look at me. His weary eyes tell me his condition is grim.

  “Jacob!” I say, ripping the shirt to expose his abdomen. The bullet is still inside; there’s no exit wound. I ready a piece of glass to saw through his shackle, but his foot is black. I sink down from my knees to sit flat on the ground. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, tears threatening to spill.

  “What could you have done?” he replies with a grimace. My gut clenches when I think of the pain he’s gone through trying to save me.

  I can’t cut the band free from his ankle or poison will rush through his entire body. For the best chance of survival, it needs to be done in the hospital. I saw through the strap that keeps him fastened to the chain instead. Running my fingers to the side of his neck, I check his pulse; it’s so weak. Taking the pillow and blanket from the bed, I lie next to him to help keep him warm.

  “Remember when I did this for you?” he asks with a smile. “You were so sick.”

  “Of course I remember,” I say, stroking his hair.

  “Emily, if it weren’t for Pete, would you have taken a chance on me?” he asks weakly. I smile up at him.

  “If it weren’t for Pete, I would one hundred percent give my heart to you, Jacob Templet.”

  The trace of a smile appears on his face, and I lightly brush my lips against his forehead before settling back against him. “I knew you would. I don’t know if you confirming it makes me feel worse or better. It’s no secret how much you mean to me.”

  “Jacob, you need to drink this,” I plead, pulling a bottle of water from the little refrigerator. He takes a few sips, but refuses more. His dark shadow of a beard makes him appear even paler, and I feel utterly helpless. Capping the drink, I tuck the blanket around him, and with his head in my lap, gently continue to stroke his hair.

  “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable earlier,” he says.

  “You didn’t,” I say. He lets out a weak laugh-cough combination.

  “I’m telling you how much you mean to me, and you’re trying to shove fluids down my throat.”

  “Jacob, I…”

  He reaches for my hand and pulls it to his chest. “I need you to do something for me.”

  “Anything,” I say.

  “Since you and I can’t be together, I kinda think that Georgia might be the one. Would you tell her that for me? Not that she is my second choice, but that I can picture a life with her.” He coughs halfway through the revelation.

  “Jacob, don’t talk like that.” I beg. “You can tell Georgia for yourself when we get out of here. In fact, I’m going to look around, figure out where we are, and get us some help. Here, drink some more,” I say, holding the bottle to his lips.

  He does as I request before slumping back onto the pillow. I fret about situating him, then grab another beer and smash it like I did the first one. I put some of the longer, sharper shards into the pockets on either side of my tactical pants and shove a few under the bed’s mattress.

  If Kent tries to rape me, I want to at least have a fighting chance. I quickly clean the mess I’ve made. The unpleasant scent of the cabin will hopefully mask the smell of the beer.

  I peek out of the window to the left and see water. I move to the window on the right and see a bank plagued by thick undergrowth for a few feet. It opens into dense woods.

  A very tiny trail cuts through the undergrowth, and I decide it will be my best bet. I check for any signs of Kent. None. Cracking the door slowly, I listen for the hum of a boat motor. All is quiet except for the normal bayou sounds. I stealthily make my way down the small porch of the floating cabin.

  Jumping the foot or so from the edge of
the porch to the bank, I reach for a cluster of cattails to steady myself, and then make the trek down the thin trail. My feet throb because of all the splinters and thorns embedded in them. Thank goodness I don’t have to worry so much about snakes. The weather is still cold, and this area would normally be teeming with water moccasins and rattlesnakes if it were warmer. It’s bad enough I have to walk in this with bare feet and no shirt.

  As the thorns and sharp twigs bore their way into my feet, I soon have full blown cuts. The thick, black clay common in South Louisiana makes them burn like fire, but my worry for Jacob drives me to keep going.

  My heart sinks when I finally come to the end of the trail. I find nothing but a bunch of animal bones, some empty beer bottles, and other bits of garbage; I’ve found Kent’s trash pile. I stop and look around, but all I see are trees and weeds. I have absolutely no idea what to do or where to go from here. Breathless, I find an old tree stump to prop against. I need an epiphany on how to get out of here.

  It’s doubtful I’ll find help right away by going through the woods, so I decide to make my way back toward the bayou. Hopefully, something in the distance to walk or swim to for help will catch my eye. Plus, I need to check in on Jacob before I go out further.

  I try to walk slower on the way back to the camp. The stress and pain take their toll on my haggard body, and I find myself cruising on autopilot. I guess it must be around ten or eleven in the morning, but it’s hard to tell because of the rapidly approaching storm clouds.

  A bolt of lightning strikes near enough to make me jump, and the roar of the thunder that follows encourages me pick up the pace. I hobble the rest of the way down the trail. The lightning strikes closer not only in distance, but in time, as well.

  I make it back to the cattails and look up to judge the distance I’ll have to jump from the bank to land safely back onto the camp. My breath catches in my chest, and I feel as though I might faint. Kent stands, arms crossed over his chest, with his body propped against one of the posts. He has an amused sneer planted on his face. I quickly look around, deciding to dash back up the trail to escape. I can possibly lose him if I make it to the tree line.