Awash (The Forgotten Coast Florida Suspense Series Book 6) (13 page)

Stuart watched Evan, wariness overshadowing the brave front, as Evan moved to stand in front of the coffee table.

“If you didn’t have anything to do with Zoe, then you should be eager to cooperate with us.”

“I didn’t do anything and I don’t have to give you none of my DNA,” the kid said.

“It’ll grow back,” Evan said.

The kid stood up. “You don’t have a warrant or anything,” he said. “If I tell you to leave, you have to leave.”

Maggie stood up as well. “Are you sure you don’t want to help us out voluntarily, Stuart?”

“Yeah,” he said, and this time he didn’t look at her chest.

“That’s fine, Stuart,” Evan said. “But just let me mention that I’ve known quite a few bikers. Those old guys that hang out at your shop? A lot of them have daughters. It’ll suck if they get wind of the fact that you like to roofie innocent young women.”

“You can’t do that, man,” Stuart said. “That’s libel!”

Evan looked at Maggie. “University of Google Law School,” he said. He looked back at Stuart. “It’s harassment, dumbass, but only when you can prove it. Don’t move out of town. Go to work and come home. Run away from anyone who doesn’t have a penis. This is a small town with a lot of cops who don’t have anything better to do than keep an eye on you.”

“That’s pretty good advice, Stuart,” Maggie said.

Stuart worked up a trembling sneer. “How old is
your
daughter?”

Maggie looked at him without expression until he blinked a few times, then she headed for the door.

“You’re dumber than you look, which is remarkable,” Evan said, then followed her out.

The sun blasted through Maggie’s eyeballs as she and Evan walked to the Jeep.

“You don’t seem to like cats,” she said.

“More than I like rapists, less than I like everything else,” he answered, sliding his sunglasses out of his shirt pocket.

“Maybe you should get one,” she said, opening her door.

“I have one. My wife’s cat, Plutes,” he said as he got into the Jeep. “He’s a jerk.”

Maggie slid into her seat and started the car. “You have an interesting bedside manner,” Maggie said.

“Entertainingly, Wyatt used to say the same thing,” Evan said.

“If he’s not worried about his DNA matching what we have, he’s worried about it matching somewhere that nobody knows about yet,” Maggie said.

“That’s my assumption,” Evan said.

“Mommy got Zoe out of there because she was scared,” Maggie added.

Evan nodded and put on his sunglasses as Maggie backed out of the driveway. “How old
is
your daughter?’ he asked her.

“Forty-five caliber,” Maggie answered.

“Too old for him, then,” he said.

B
ennett Boudreaux’s rather timid receptionist had eventually said that Boudreaux had walked over to Boss Oyster for an early lunch, so that’s where Wyatt went, too.

When he walked in, he saw through the wall of windows that Boudreaux was out on the back deck. He walked through the screen door, let it slap shut behind him. Boudreaux looked up, and watched without expression as Wyatt walked across the deck.

There were only two other customers outside, a pair of middle-aged shrimpers who paused in the enjoyment of their grouper sandwiches as they watched Wyatt approach Boudreaux’s table.

“Hello, Mr. Boudreaux,” Wyatt said. His tone was pleasant, but his eyes were hard.

“Hello, Sheriff Hamilton,” Boudreaux answered. “Are you here for lunch?”

“No, I’m just here for you,” Wyatt answered.

There was furtive movement across the deck, and Wyatt glanced over as the two shrimpers picked up their baskets and beers and tried to look like they weren’t scurrying inside.

Boudreaux smiled. “You’ve frightened the clientele,” he said as the screen door scraped shut. “Please, have a seat.”

Wyatt sat down. Boudreaux’s bottle of Red Stripe was covered with drops of condensation despite the fairly cool weather, but it was fresh enough that it hadn’t left a wet ring on the table yet.

A plump young server with choppy red hair came outside, and Wyatt saw her slow her pace as her eyes darted between Boudreaux and Wyatt. Wyatt supposed it was a rather incongruous sight.

He looked up and gave her his reassuring smile, the one with all of the dimples. “Hi, Brittany.”

“Hey, Sheriff,” she said, brightening just a little. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“I’ll have a Landshark,” Wyatt answered.

“Sure thing,” she answered, and headed back inside.

Wyatt and Boudreaux considered each other for a moment.

“I’m having some oysters. Would you care to join me?” Boudreaux asked.

“No, thank you,” Wyatt said pleasantly. “I seldom eat phlegm.”

Boudreaux gave him a small smile. “You might be in the wrong town,” he said.

“Well, be that as it may,” Wyatt said, and left it at that.

Brittany came back outside with a tray. She put an aluminum tray of raw oysters in front of Boudreaux, then Wyatt’s beer in front of him. “You want something to eat, Sheriff? Grouper sandwich?”

“No, thanks, Brittany,” he answered kindly. “Just stopped in for a minute.”

She looked from one man to the other, seemed concerned with keeping them from speaking to each other. “I saw you in the paper this morning. You really gonna be the PR guy or something?”

“Something like that,” he answered.

“Paper said it was because of you getting shot, but I heard it was because of Maggie Redmond. For real?”

Wyatt smiled at her. “You know how it is in a small town,” he said without saying anything.

“Man, I wish somebody would quit something for me,” she said as she walked away.

Wyatt looked back at Boudreaux and picked up his beer.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to drink on duty,” Boudreaux said.

“That’s not as hard and fast as you would expect,” Wyatt said after he took a drink. “Why, are you planning on bringing it up at the next County Commissioner’s meeting?”

“I don’t see anything wrong with a beer,” Boudreaux said pleasantly.

“For the record, I don’t normally drink while I’m on duty,” Wyatt said. “But I’m having kind of a day.”

“Have I murdered someone I don’t know about?” Boudreaux asked, trying not to smile.

“I’m sure you’ve murdered someone
I
don’t know about,” Wyatt said without missing a beat.

“Not recently,” Boudreaux countered. He took a drink of his Red Stripe, then set it down. “Was there something else you wanted to discuss?”

Wyatt watched as Boudreaux prepared an oyster, topping it with one drop of Tabasco and a squeeze of lemon.

“Maggie,” Wyatt said. He took a drink of his beer.

Boudreaux barely looked up from his oyster. “Are you sure you won’t have one?” he asked politely.

“I’m sure.”

Boudreaux slid the oyster into his mouth, closing his eyes for just a moment as he bit down. Then he finished it neatly and sat back in his chair. “Maggie,” he repeated.

He seemed to wait for Wyatt to be more forthcoming, and his coolness both infuriated and impressed Wyatt.

“What the hell are you doing?” Wyatt asked evenly.

“Are you talking about the favor I’ve asked of Maggie?” Boudreaux asked.

“I’m talking about all of it,” Wyatt said. “But sure, let’s start with you asking her to spend the night at your house.”

“Miss Evangeline is the only mother I’ve ever known,” Boudreaux said. “Maggie is the only person I trust to care for her.”

“Maggie’s a cop. You’re a criminal,” Wyatt said.

“That doesn’t seem to have as much bearing as one would expect,” Boudreaux said, then put another oyster into his mouth.

“It does from this side of the table,” Wyatt said.

“Yes, I’m sure it does,” Boudreaux said after he’d swallowed. “May I call you Wyatt, to save us some syllables?” Wyatt lifted his beer in assent. “Wyatt, I understand your concern. I’m not trying to damage Maggie’s reputation.”

“Having a slumber party at your house won’t help.”

Boudreaux regarded Wyatt for a moment, then sat back in his chair. “I won’t be there,” he said, almost kindly, Wyatt thought.

He didn’t care.

“The neighbors won’t know that,” he said.

“I’ll see that they do,” Boudreaux said. “Would you
like to stay there
with
her?”

“Well, not if you’re not going to join us,” Wyatt said.

“The offer is earnest,” Boudreaux said with an appreciative half-smile.

“The offer is pointless,” Wyatt said. “The two of us staying there just looks bad in a different way.” He leaned forward. “What the hell is your game, Boudreaux?”

Boudreaux stared at Wyatt calmly as he picked distractedly at the Red Stripe label. “There is no game. I genuinely care about Maggie.”

“Care how?”

Boudreaux gently scratched at his eyebrow for a moment. “I’m her friend.”

Wyatt leaned in again and lowered his voice, despite the fact that they were alone on the deck. “
I’m
her friend. You’re her job description.”

Boudreaux gently slid his oysters out of the way, then put his elbows on the table and folded his hands. “Believe it or not, I have a lot of respect for you, Wyatt,” he said. “I even like you, though I’m sure you’d rather I didn’t. So let’s not flirt with each other quite so much. Why don’t you just get to your bottom line?”

Wyatt set his beer down on the table and leaned back in his chair. “My bottom line. My bottom line is this: if you do anything, anything at all, that puts her in any kind of danger, physically or emotionally, I will bury you.”

“Do you mean that literally or legally?” Boudreaux asked mildly.

“Whichever way is handiest at the time,” Wyatt said.

Boudreaux looked at his Red Stripe for a moment as he slowly turned it around and around. “I normally react badly to threats,” he said finally. “But as a man who loves Maggie, you’re well within your rights to make that one.”

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your understanding,” Wyatt said without humor.

Boudreaux gently pushed his beer aside and folded his arms on the table. “But let’s make sure we both know exactly where we stand.”

Wyatt watched as the polite geniality slipped from Boudreaux’s eyes, and was replaced with a cold intensity that a few dead men would probably recognize.

“If
you
ever hurt her,” Boudreaux said quietly, “I’ll scorch every square inch of earth you’ve ever stood on.”

Wyatt smiled as though accepting a challenge, then took the last sip of his beer and set the bottle on the table. “I’d say we both know how things are,” Wyatt said.

“I think so,” Boudreaux said, pushing back his chair as Wyatt stood. He held out a hand. “Have a nice day, Wyatt.”

Wyatt took his hand and shook it. Neither of them bothered to try for the hardest grip. “You, too, Boudreaux.”

Wyatt turned and walked away, thinking that the last part there was the most believable thing Boudreaux had ever said to him. He’d have to give him that.

T
he car was silent as Dwight drove slowly down Zoe’s street. Zoe had seemed disappointed when he’d shown up at the hotel instead of Maggie, but seemed to understand when he’d explained that she was in Port St. Joe following up on a lead. The aunt hadn’t seemed real happy when he said he couldn’t explain what lead, but Maggie wanted to be the one to talk to them about it, and it was her call.