New Year Heroes: The Sheriff's Secretary / Veiled Intentions / Juror No. 7

“An hour.”

The last call was to Deputy Louis DuBois. “Where are you, Louis?” he asked when the man answered his cell phone.

There was a long pause. “I’m in my car between Magnolia and Main. Uh, I’m looking for Phil Ribideaux.”

“What do you mean you’re looking for him?” Lucas asked.

“Uh, I seem to have lost him.”

Lucas closed his eyes and squeezed the phone more tightly against his ear. “What do you mean you lost him?”

“I’m sorry, Lucas, but he got into that little sports car of his and he must have seen me behind him because he took off around a couple of corners and was gone.”

“How long has it been since you had him in visual contact?” Lucas asked.

“At least an hour,” Louis confessed. “I’m heading toward his house now to see if he’s returned there.”

“Keep me posted.” Lucas clicked off and muttered a curse.

Mariah turned to face him. “What’s happened?”

“I had Louis following Phil Ribideaux, and apparently in the past hour he lost him.”

She leaned against the wall and brushed a strand of her unruly curly hair away from her face. “An hour. That means it’s possible it was Phil Ribideaux who was in the cemetery.”

“It’s also possible it was a dozen other people,” Lucas replied. “In truth, I can’t imagine Phillip Ribideaux having the imagination or the balls to pull something like this off.” He pulled his keys from his pocket. “Look, I need to go down to the station. Will you be okay alone for a little while?”

Her gaze went to the telephone. “What if he calls again?”

“I don’t think he will, at least not again tonight. I think he’s had his fun for now.” He frowned. Funny … all the people who had shown up that morning had been well-meaning neighbors, but there had been no phone calls, no appearance of anyone who seemed to be Mariah’s close friend. “Is there somebody I can call to be here with you? Maybe a good friend?”

She shook her head. “Jenny was becoming a good friend, but other than her I have no close friends here,” she replied. “Between my job and Billy, there hasn’t been time for fostering any real friendships.” She rubbed her left wrist. “Besides, I’m a private person. Friends want to know where you come from and where you’re going. I didn’t want to talk about the first and I don’t have answers for the second.”

She turned back to face the window. “Go do whatever it is you need to do. I’ll be fine here.”

She might be fine, but he was an emotional wreck as he drove to his office. Despite the lateness of the hour, he’d called Wally and told him to gather the deputies for a briefing. He also wanted to coordinate with Agent Kessler.

As he drove, his head filled with thoughts of Jenny. He’d clung to the perverse hope that somehow she was behind her own disappearance, that she wasn’t in serious danger other than getting a butt-chewing from him when she finally showed up.

But as they’d walked the cemetery, he’d realized Mariah was right. Jenny might not mind making him worry himself sick, but she’d never do something like this to Mariah. She’d never keep Billy away from his mother.

However, it was possible that Jenny’s bad choices in friends and relationships had put her in this position. Remy Troulous was one of those bad choices. What the hell had she been doing with him? And where the hell was Remy Troulous now?

Lucas knew it was useless to search for the man. He was like a swamp rat, able to scurry through darkness and hide in any number of holes. He wouldn’t be found unless he wanted to be, and there was no way to know when he’d decide to make an appearance.

Did Remy have anything to do with this? Or was it possible Phil Ribideaux was behind it? And what about the mysterious Frank Landers? The questions served no purpose other than to give him a headache and intensify his weariness.

He was going to have to get some sleep. He was running on empty and there was no way he could be sharp and focused, either physically or mentally, without rest.

The sheriff’s office was in a building smack-dab in the middle of Main Street. He parked in the space allotted to him, then went inside where his deputies and the FBI agent awaited.

They all looked as tired as he felt. It didn’t take long for him to fill them in on what had happened at the cemetery, then listen to each of them report on what they’d been doing in the past few hours. None of them had anything substantial to report.

The Shreveport authorities had still been unable to locate Frank Landers, Remy Troulous was missing in action, as was Phil Ribideaux. Further interrogations of Mariah’s neighbors had yielded nothing, and by the time Lucas left the office with his overnight bag and clean clothes in hand, he carried with him an overwhelming sense of frustration.

The first forty-eight hours after a crime was committed were crucial, and Lucas was aware that they knew little more than they had in the first hours after Billy and Jenny had disappeared. He and his men were doing everything they could to find Jenny and Billy, but at the moment the kidnapper was definitely in charge.

Eventually he would make a mistake. Lucas had no doubt about that. The phone calls told Lucas that the kidnapper wanted to brag, needed to connect, and eventually he’d make a mistake. But until that happened Lucas could only react, and he hated not being in control.

He told his deputies that he would stay at Mariah’s house, since the kidnapper was calling on her home phone. He would be the only law enforcement agent there. For now, he was playing by the kidnapper’s rules. He and his deputies would stay in touch by phone and continue to meet at regular intervals at the office.

Although Conja Creek wasn’t a hotbed of criminal activity, they still had to contend with the usual crimes that occurred on a regular basis. He put Ed Maylor in charge of coordinating with the citizens who wanted to help find Jenny and Billy and put Wally in charge of the office while Lucas stayed at Mariah’s. Agent Kessler would coordinate with the state police and continue to work with the deputies to interview and assess the situation.

Kessler indicated that he was more than willing to call in several more agents, but Lucas feared the wrath of the kidnapper if too many law enforcement agents appeared in town. He and Kessler agreed that for the short term everything would remain status quo.

When he arrived back at Mariah’s, he walked through the front door and was met with silence. He dropped his bag and his clothes on the sofa, then went in search of Mariah.

He found her in Billy’s room, curled up in a fetal position on the bed. She clutched her son’s yellow-and-navy pajamas to her chest, and his heart clenched at the sight.

Her sleep was obviously deep, for she didn’t move as he approached her. She must have showered after he left, and changed her clothes, for she now wore a pair of jogging pants and a different T-shirt.

For a long moment he stood and watched her, his heart clenching once again as he saw the dark shadows beneath her long lashes, the faint crease that rode her brow, as if even sleep hadn’t offered her the escape she needed.

He wanted to curl up beside her in the bed, take her into his arms and hold her and fill his head with the sweet scent of her. The desire shocked him. With all that was going on, how was it possible that desire managed to rear its unwelcome head?

Maybe because it was a familiar, known emotion as opposed to the unfamiliar torment of fear that rocked through him as his heart cried his sister’s name. But, Mariah Harrington had touched him in places he hadn’t been touched in a very long time.

Her strength amazed him, her courage awed him and the secrets he sensed she had from her past intrigued him. She was like no other woman he had encountered in a very long time.

He spied a navy afghan folded over the chair at the desk and he grabbed it and gently laid it over her. The house was cool and he wanted to do something, anything that felt like taking care of her.

He was grateful that she was asleep, glad that he wouldn’t have to tell her the instructions he’d given his deputies. He left the bedroom and went into the kitchen, where he stood at the window and stared into the black of night.

This was the second night. Almost forty-eight hours had passed since Jenny and Billy had been taken. What were the odds that somebody had kidnapped them and was keeping them alive in a secret place here in Conja Creek? He figured slim to none.

That’s why he was glad Mariah was sleeping. So he wouldn’t have to tell her that he suspected they were now looking for Jenny’s and Billy’s bodies.

NIGHT HAD FALLEN AGAIN, and with it the terror of the darkness, the horror of the unknown. Jenny cradled Billy’s head in her lap, worried as she heard the sound of his labored breathing.

He was asleep, but it was a fitful rest, and she could only guess at the bad dreams a frightened eight-year-old little boy might suffer.

His breathing worried her. She knew how bad Billy’s asthma could get. Twice in the couple of months she’d lived with Mariah, he’d had to be rushed to the emergency room because his nebulizer hadn’t been able to give him the relief he’d needed.

Although it wasn’t critical yet, she feared what another day away from his mommy, away from his home might bring. As his stress and fear level rose, so did his breathing issues.

Dawn had brought a new level of understanding to Jenny and a heightened sense of simmering fear.

As light had crept in around the cracks in the boards of the structure where they were being held, she’d been able to see that it was a small room built with new, strong wood. The nails—thick, big spikes—were driven in deep and sound.

Besides the mattress on the floor, in one corner was a portable potty and in the other corner was a wooden shelf filled with nonperishable food. There were boxes of breakfast bars and crackers, beef jerky and canned goods with pop lids. Beneath the shelf were cases of bottled water.

It was the plethora of food that frightened her more than anything. Whoever had them had prepared for them to be here a long time. Why? What in God’s name could they want?

She racked her brain, trying to figure out who would want to kidnap them and why. But she had no answers. It might be about money. Certainly Lucas could afford to pay a huge ransom for their release. In fact, Jenny had her own trust fund that contained enough to make a kidnapper happy for the rest of his life.

When Billy had awakened, they’d both screamed for help, hoping somebody would hear and come to rescue them. But it was as if they were yelling at the bottom of the ocean. Nobody replied. Nobody came.

When they’d exhausted themselves screaming, she’d spent most of the rest of the day examining their surroundings, trying to find a weakness she could exploit to get them out of there. But there didn’t seem to be any way out.

She’d finally given up and had played games with Billy. They’d played I Spy and an alphabet game, then had played Rock, Paper, Scissors until she thought she’d go mad.

As dusk had approached and Billy’s anxiety began to increase, Jenny had tried to entertain him by talking about the animals who lived in the swamps. Billy loved to learn, and Jenny had once thought about being a teacher. But when she’d gone to college, she’d taken business instead of education classes, because Lucas had thought that would be a smarter choice.

Tears now filled her eyes as she thought of her older brother. He could be bossy and a know-it-all, but she adored him. He’d been her hero for most of her life, fixing messes she made and taking care of her.

Lately she’d been angry with him, wanting him to back off and let her live her own life. She wanted to make her own choices and figure things out on her own, but sometimes she felt so stupid.

She leaned her head back against the wooden wall and stroked her fingers through Billy’s hair. She’d always loved kids, and Billy had found a special place in her heart.

He coughed and she recognized the tight bark as his asthma cough. She closed her eyes, terror once again filling her.

Billy needed to get out of here before his breathing grew worse. But she couldn’t physically break through the wooden walls that kept them prisoner. She couldn’t even try to negotiate with their kidnapper because, since the moment they had awakened from whatever had knocked them out, they had been utterly alone.

She’d been on the verge of tears all day, but had refused to allow them to fall because she knew it would upset Billy. But now, in the darkness and with Billy asleep, tears trickled down her cheeks. She must have done something stupid, something to put herself at risk. She wasn’t sure what it had been, but somehow this had to be her fault.

She needed her brother to find them. She needed Lucas to be her hero one last time, then she swore to herself that she’d never do anything stupid again.

Chapter Six

Sleep fell away in increments. Mariah became aware of the faint sound of chirping birds drifting through the windowpane, and for just a moment a sense of well-being filled her.

Then she opened her eyes and realized she was in Billy’s bed, and reality slammed into her a like a sledgehammer crushing her heart.

Another dawn, and he was still not home. She squeezed her eyes shut as a rush of emotion filled her. She could only assume that nothing had happened while she slept, for if it had, Lucas would have awakened her.

How was she going to get through another day … another minute of the tormenting fear? How was she going to survive her next breath not knowing where her son was or if he were alive or—

She gasped, not wanting to even think that she might never see Billy’s smile again, would never hear that silly giggle of his.

Drawing a deep breath, she took in the scent of him that lingered in his room, the faint Billy fragrance that clung to his little pajamas. How long before that Billy smell went away? Would he be gone so long that there would be nothing left of him?

Needing to escape her own thoughts, she hurried into the bathroom where she washed her face, brushed her teeth and pulled her hair back with a ponytail holder at the nape of her neck.

She looked tired despite the sleep she’d gotten. Of course, much of her sleep had been haunted by dreams of Billy crying for her, needing her, and she’d been unable to go to him.

She was living every mother’s nightmare. She’d read the tragic news stories of missing children, had seen parents on the television years after the disappearance still seeking answers. She didn’t want to be one of those parents. She didn’t want to think that Billy might be a statistic.

Shoving away the horrible thoughts, she went in search of Lucas.

She found him stretched out on his back on her sofa. He was sound asleep. He wore a pair of worn jeans and a white T-shirt and she realized it was the first time she’d seen him out of his khaki uniform.

He looked good in jeans, and the T-shirt pulled across the width of his chest. She had always been attracted to Lucas. From the first time he’d strode into the office demanding to speak to the mayor, she’d felt a magnetic spark.

But he scared her more than a little bit. He reminded her of the husband she’d fled. She’d already made one major mistake in her life, and she had the feeling that following through on her attraction to Lucas Jamison would simply be another monumental mistake.

He must have been exhausted, for the lamp on the end table closest to his head burned bright but didn’t seem to bother him.

She moved into the kitchen and quietly began to make a pot of coffee. That was all she seemed to be good for. She couldn’t find her son. She couldn’t figure out who might have taken him. She didn’t like feeling so useless, so utterly powerless. She’d had years of feeling that way with Frank and had sworn she’d never allow herself to feel that way again.

Only the first stir of dawn’s light brightened the eastern skies and she turned on the small light over the oven, then poured herself a cup of the freshly brewed coffee.

As she sipped, she realized she was hungry, and that sent a stabbing guilt through her. How could she sleep? How could she even think about food when Billy had been kidnapped? Was he being fed? Was he warm? The questions tormented her.

“Good morning.” Lucas’s deep voice came from behind her and he flipped on the overhead light.

“It can’t be good if Billy and Jenny aren’t here,” she replied.

She heard him open a cabinet and knew he was getting a cup for coffee. A minute later he joined her at the table. His sleep-tousled hair did nothing to detract from his handsomeness. She waited for him to tell her that he’d get them back, that everything was going to be okay. When he didn’t, her heart clenched so tight she felt as if she were suffocating.

“At least we both got some sleep,” he finally said.

She set her cup down. “I feel horrible, that I could sleep and not know if my son is being fed or being allowed to sleep. And you know what makes me feel even more guilty? The fact that at the moment I’m thinking about making some scrambled eggs and toast because I’m starving.”

He reached across the table and captured her hand in his. “You can’t feel guilty about the things your body requires to live. You have to eat and you have to sleep.”

His hand was big and strong and warm around hers, and she welcomed the warmth, the touch. Maybe the old adage was true, that misery loved company.

“Are they coming home, Lucas?” The question was a mere whisper and until the words left her lips she hadn’t realized she was going to ask it.

His gaze held hers. “I don’t know.” He squeezed her hand more tightly. “I wish I could tell you otherwise, but I don’t think you’d appreciate me lying to you.”

“Absolutely not,” she agreed. “I want to know every piece of information you know, every feeling you have. I need to know what’s going on every minute.”

He nodded, released her hand and leaned back in his chair. “Now I have a very important question to ask you.”

She sat up straighter, steeling herself for whatever he might need to know. “What?”

The corners of his lips turned up in a smile that momentarily erased the stress lines of his face. “Are you making the eggs or do you want me to? I have to confess I make a mean omelet.”

Her burst of laughter surprised her, not only with its unexpectedness but also in the fact that it eased some of the knot of tension in her stomach. She sobered almost immediately and pointed to the stove. “Knock yourself out. I don’t think a man has ever cooked me breakfast before.”

“Then sit back and relax and let me do the driving,” he replied as he stood.

She watched as he began to pull items out of the refrigerator. “You like that, don’t you? Being in the driver’s seat.”

He frowned thoughtfully as he set a carton of mushrooms on the counter. “I’ve never thought about whether I like it or not, it’s just something I’ve always had to do.”

“Why’d you decide to run for sheriff? It’s no secret that you have enough money that if you didn’t want to, you wouldn’t have to work for the rest of your life.”

He grabbed a knife from the drawer and began to cut up a green pepper. “When I was young I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. There was a group of young men here in town. We were all friends and we spent most of our high school days acting like rich jackasses. We were overindulged, full of ourselves and good for nothing. Then the five of us decided to all go to the same college in Missouri.”

He stopped talking long enough to get the skillet from the cabinet and the carton of eggs from the refrigerator, then continued. “Anyway, while we were there we all developed a social conscience. We called ourselves the Brotherhood and we all made a pact that we would choose careers that gave something back to our community. We were not going to be the kind of wealthy young men who got our names in the tabloids.”

“So you became sheriff. What about the others in the Brotherhood?” She welcomed the conversation to keep her mind from dark places.

“You know Sawyer. He became an architect. Then there’s Jackson Burdeaux, who is a criminal defense attorney, Clay Jefferson, who became a psychiatrist and Beau Reveneau, who joined the army.”

“I’ve met all of them but Beau. Does he still live in Conja Creek?”

Lucas poured the egg concoction into the awaiting skillet before replying. “We don’t know where Beau is. His family moved from Conja Creek about eight years ago, and none of us have heard from him for several years.”

“So you were all close friends?”

“The best.” He took a sip of his coffee, his expression reflective. “We swore that we’d always have each other’s backs, that we’d support each other for the rest of our lives.” He shook his head ruefully. “We were very young and idealistic.”

“Must have been tough on you last month when you thought Sawyer had killed his wife,” Mariah replied. The crime had been shocking. Sawyer’s wife, Erica Bennett, had been stabbed and pushed off the dock and into the swamp water behind the Bennett home. Erica had been an unfaithful wife who at the time of her death had been pregnant. Sawyer had been the number-one suspect.

“The most difficult part was that I knew in my gut that Sawyer wasn’t responsible, but I was pressured by your boss to make the arrest.”

It had turned out that Erica had been murdered by her best friend and next-door neighbor, Lillian Cordell. And despite all the drama, Sawyer had found love with the nanny he’d hired to care for his daughter, Molly.

“I hear Sawyer and Amanda are getting married next month,” she said.

“Yeah. I got an invitation. It’s going to be a small wedding in Sawyer’s backyard. I’m glad he found somebody who makes him happy. He was unhappy with Erica for a very long time. And speaking of weddings and marriages, tell me about yours.”

As always, whenever she thought of Frank, her wrist ached as if to remind her of all the pain her marriage had brought to her. “There’s nothing much to tell. We got married, it didn’t work out and we got a divorce.”

“But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?” He pushed the button to lower the bread in the toaster, then turned and looked at her expectantly.

“I’m surprised you’d find the minutia of a broken marriage of any interest,” she replied.

“I think there’s more than the usual minutia in your broken marriage. After all, it was you who told me Frank Landers might be responsible for all this.”

As he took the eggs from the skillet and ladled them onto two plates, she turned her attention to the window and stared out, knowing that she was going to have to tell him how bad things had been, how stupid she had been. The toast popped up and she turned her gaze back to him.

“I was twenty-one and Frank was forty when we married. We’d met in a bar, and I thought he was strong and smart. He seemed to adore me.”

She released a humorless laugh and wrapped her hands around her coffee cup. “I guess you could say I was a cliché. My father left us when I was ten and I never had a real relationship with him. My mother worked two jobs to support us and I rarely saw her. When I met Frank I was hungry for somebody to love me, and he fed that hunger. It wasn’t until after we were married that I realized his adoration was obsession and he was dictatorial and mean.”

Lucas carried the two plates to the table and joined her there. She was grateful that his eyes held no judgment, nor did they hold pity. He just looked at her curiously.

“I was smart, but I fell into the same trap that other abused women fall into,” she continued. “You’ve probably heard this story a million times before. At the beginning things were okay, although Frank had total control over what I did, where I went and who I saw. I wanted to please him so I played right into his game. By the time I got pregnant I’d been isolated from my friends and my mother. And while I knew things weren’t right, I wanted my baby to be raised in the kind of complete family that I hadn’t had.”