Blackmail (3 page)

“You know the procedure, right? The social worker at the center explained it all to you upon your release, correct?”

Caleb glared at him, his eyes narrowed.

Jon stared back. He had to take control. “Right?”

The boy crossed his arms and stared at the wall behind Jon.

Jon released a slow breath. “Caleb, you don't have to like me or anybody else, but you do have to answer my questions.”

“I was told.”

At last, the boy spoke. Jon smiled and leaned forward, making himself more approachable. “Do you have any questions? You can ask me anything. I'm here to help you.”

“Why do I hafta go to summer school?”

“Because you missed the last five weeks of your junior year. You have to make up what you missed or you won't be considered a senior come the fall semester.”

Caleb grunted.

Jon tried again to shove open the door of communication. “Any other questions?”

“How long do I gotta live with her?”

Two questions. Progress. “You mean with your sister?”

“She ain't my sister.”

“She's not?” Jon lifted a file and pretended to search for a certain piece of paper. “I'm sure that's what the court report said.”

“She's my half sister.”

“Oh.” Jon put the folder back on the desk and tented his hands. “Well, she's still your legal guardian.”

“Not by choice.” Belligerence covered the boy's words and presence. Another common thread in those from juvie—the dislike of not having control and resenting those who had it.

Jon cleared his throat. “Not yours, no, but hers. She agreed to take you on, Caleb. I'd say that was pretty generous of her.”

Caleb dropped his gaze back to the floor. Anger or fear? Both were strong emotions and could trigger bad behavior. Violent, even.

“I see.” This time, Jon did look at his notes. “Well, you're on probation for six months.”

“I'll be eighteen before then.”

“Yes, you will. At such time, your sister will be removed as your legal guardian and you'll be responsible for adhering to the guidelines for your supervision yourself.” Unless he was already
back in detention. Judging by Caleb's attitude, Jon had his doubts the boy would straighten up.

“Yeah, I was told that, too.”

“Good.” Jon stood and let out a sigh. “As I told your sister, expect a home visit this week.”

Caleb rose and slouched, not answering.

One more try…“You know, this whole process goes much easier if you work with us instead of against us.”

“You don't know me. Don't know anything about me.” Caleb grabbed for the door. “Are we done?”

Jon shook his head. Ungrateful, selfish…Kids like this were all too common. They thought about no one but themselves. “Yes, we're done. I'll see you this week at home.”

The teen left without a word.

Many years and cases ago, Jon had given up the idea that all parolees could be rehabilitated. Despite counseling and social workers, juvies were the worst. Once they'd started down the wrong path in life, it seemed they couldn't recover. His job was to ensure they didn't break any other laws on his watch. The odds of their turning over a new leaf were nearly impossible.

Jon knew all too well how rare rehabilitation truly was. He'd been
raised
by an aunt who couldn't be interrupted from her partying—drinking and spending time with numerous men—to see to it that he had anything to eat. Maybe Aunt Torey was the reason he'd gone into career paths to help others. But what he'd seen of the system hadn't changed his opinion. People didn't change all that often.

He opened Caleb's file again. Music and movie pirating, hmm? Not so serious a crime, but becoming more and more common with teens. No telling what he'd been exposed to inside the detention center. Most of those places, like prison, taught people how to be criminals. Well, Jon would order the full record from the center and see what Caleb had been up to while detained. Maybe he'd been in trouble before and managed not
to get caught. But it'd only be a matter of time before Jon uncovered the truth and learned if there was any hope of Caleb Frost's reentry to society as a viable member.

“M
s. Thompson, what is Vermilion Oil doing to discover who's behind the sabotaging of your facilities and rigs? This is the second incident. Surely the company is deeply concerned. Damaged equipment could lead to leaks into the bayou, killing uncountable wildlife.”

Sadie glanced across the slew of media personnel to meet the imposing stare of Jackson Devereaux, investigative reporter from The New Orleans
Times-Picayune
and husband of Lagniappe's own Alyssa LeBlanc-Devereaux. Sweat pooled under Sadie's blouse. If the New Orleans paper had sent their hotshot reporter, then Deacon's fears of a media frenzy were realized and the company
was
in more trouble than she'd imagined.

Yesterday had been stressful enough just getting Caleb to his appointments and home. On top of that, Deacon hadn't been satisfied with her press release. So dissatisfied, he'd scheduled a press conference for first thing this muggy Tuesday morning. Time to sink or swim.

She cleared her throat and met Jackson's stare head-on. “Of course we're very concerned over these blatant acts of sabotage. It's an outrage. Vermilion Oil is working with the sheriff's office, the Department of Environmental Quality, the state Department of Natural Resources and the state police in their investigations into these damages. We will not tolerate such destruction.”

“But what is the company doing on its own?” Jackson
elbowed past another reporter, inching closer to the podium. “Surely y'all are conducting an independent investigation? These are, after all,
your
facilities being damaged. And it's happened twice.”

Heat crept up Sadie's neck, but she refused to buckle under such scrutiny. She jutted out her chin and resisted the urge to blow her bangs off her forehead. “I can assure you, Mr. Devereaux, Vermilion Oil is undertaking a full internal investigation. I'm not at liberty to discuss the details of our endeavors at this time. But be certain of this, we won't stop investigating until the culprits have been discovered and justice has been served.”

“Ms. Thompson, does law enforcement have any suspects?” A local reporter jostled to push next to Mr. Devereaux. Vying for a spot and attention, even though she could very well take the information straight off the printed press release handed out moments ago.

“I'm not at liberty to discuss suspects, Ms. Martin. I'd suggest you talk to Sheriff Theriot in regards to the sheriff's department's investigation.”

And let him take some of the heat.

“Are any other companies being targeted by these saboteurs? Could this be an act of terrorism?”

Sadie's mouth went dry as she locked stares with the reporter from Shreveport, Louisiana. “That'd be another question for law enforcement. I'm only involved with the investigation regarding the damaged facilities belonging to Vermilion Oil.”

“What does this mean for Mr. Wynn?”

Sadie sought the reporter who'd asked the question. Her gaze fell on the young man from Alexandria. “Mr. Bosworth.” She gave a nod to the business and finance reporter. Oh, this could be very bad for Deacon. “Mr. Wynn is forging ahead with business as usual. Currently, Vermilion Oil has eight facilities working properly in this parish alone. Security on every site has been heightened, and, of course, we have our thorough background check system for every employee working on the rigs
themselves and in the facilities. This won't happen again.” It couldn't.

The reporter all but rolled his eyes, but Sadie didn't have time to elaborate before the next reporter shouted out a question. “Ms. Thompson, we've heard some say the layoffs of several workers has led to improper monitoring, contributing to these incidents. Would you care to comment?”

Vultures—like buzzards after a wounded animal. “I can attest that every possible measure is being taken to ensure this doesn't happen again.”

“It's said that Vermilion Oil's presence in the bayou is causing havoc in the local fishermen and hunters' businesses.” The young hotshot from Lake Charles thrust his recorder closer to the podium. “There's a local group who's demanding Vermilion Oil close down the wells in the bayou to protect the environment. Would you care to comment?”

Sadie held up her hands. “I'm sorry, that's all I have for the moment. Thank you so much for your time.” She gave a curt nod. “Good day.”

The reporters continued to throw questions at her back as she made her way inside the main office. Behind the tinted windows, Deacon Wynn paced the polished floors. “They're pouncing on us, Sadie. Profits are down. I'm losing money hand over fist right now. Over two hundred of my oil rigs have no facility to produce into. Every day they're down, I'm losing hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

She let out a sigh and gripped her leather appointment book tighter. “It'll bounce back up, Deacon.”
Lord, please let it be so.

“You sure about that? The damage to the facilities is costly. That's cutting into our operating costs.” He ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “We can't afford for another to go down. Especially not to sabotage. They've knocked out almost a quarter of our top-producing rigs. I can't afford to stay in business at this rate.”

Sadie's heart twisted. Deacon Wynn was a hard and cunning
businessman, but he was also a good man. He was one of the few men who'd never made a pass at her, despite her reputation. He appreciated her talent in public relations, giving her chances that no other business owner in Lagniappe would have ever provided her. She owed him. Big-time. She'd have to make him take her suggestions this time—to save his company. “We need to bring in some independent investigator to look into the sabotage, sir. Someone who'll take this situation very seriously and hopefully can make progress where law enforcement seems to be stumped.”

Deacon stared out the window at the departing press. “You think an independent could do anything more than what law enforcement is doing?” Deacon shook his head. “We need a miracle. I need answers. And fast. If we leak anything into the waterways, it'll cost me millions for cleanup, which will put the company in bankruptcy.”

“We have to do
something,
Deacon.” She glanced at the cars leaving the parking lot. “We know some of the laid-off workers have an ax to grind with us. I'll start working on that angle.”

He nodded, but didn't take his gaze from the windows. “Whatever it takes. We can't afford for anything else to go wrong.”

“Dad.”

Both Sadie and Deacon turned as Lance Wynn strode toward them. His hair had been trimmed since the last time Sadie had seen the young man. He wore jeans that hung low on his hips and a T-shirt that needed a better washing. But his face appeared clear. Maybe rehab had done him some good.

He reached his father. “I'm sorry to hear about this latest incident. What can I do to help?”

Deacon's brows formed a firm line. “I'm surprised to see you here. Thought you were no longer interested in the company or me.”

Lance's Adam's apple bobbed. “Personal differences aside, you're my father and this is your company. When someone lashes out at you, I take it personally.”

“Like you have with Candy-Jo?” Deacon shook his head.
“Never mind. Like I told you last week, I don't want you here, Lance. We've said all there is to say between us.”

“But, Dad, I can help. I've hung around these outfits since I was ten years old. I know the business from the ground up. Let me try to help.” Desperation hung in the kid's tone.

Deacon's brows formed a firm line. “I thought I made it perfectly clear that you weren't welcome on any Vermilion Oil property. Do you want me to call security?”

Sadie took a step backward. Ever since Deacon had married Candy-Jo two years ago, there'd been conflict in the family. Candy-Jo was a much younger woman, and Sadie had heard the tension in the family had gotten so bad that eighteen-year-old Lance had gotten into some sort of mess with drugs and checked into a rehab center. Not that Deacon had ever discussed it with her. He didn't talk much about his personal business.

Deacon addressed her directly, ignoring his son. “Keep me updated, Sadie. I'm counting on you to get this handled.” He spun and strode to the elevators, but Sadie detected a slight sluggishness to his step.

Lance stood still, silently staring at his father's retreating back.

She ran her finger along a rough seam on her leather notebook. Deacon's health had taken a nosedive over the last several months. No wonder—his new wife and his son didn't get along, and the family sat in utter turmoil. Rumor had it that Deacon had even written Lance out of his will. And now these sabotages plagued Deacon's business. Poor man, how much more could he take?

“Let me help you. I know the people and the business,” Lance said.

She chewed the inside corner of her mouth. Lance
had
learned the business from the ground up and might have connections with the field workers. But, as desperate as she was right now, Sadie couldn't involve him without Deacon's permission. She let out a soft sigh. “I appreciate the offer, but I don't think so.”

Lance hung his head.

Her cell phone saved her from any further conversation with the young man. She flipped the phone open. “Hello?”

“This is Ms. Mitchell from Lagniappe High with the summer school program. Is this Caleb Frost's guardian?”

Sadie's heart thumped quicker. “Yes, I'm Caleb Frost's guardian. How can I help you?” She smiled at Lance before turning and heading back to her office.

 

Interesting.

Jon turned off the television as soon as the press conference faded to the news anchor's commentary and tossed the remote onto the desk. Sadie Thompson had grit, he had to give her that. There was something about her, something that seemed to resonate deep inside him. Knowing she'd just undertaken an enormous burden with Caleb, Jon had to admire her spunk shown at the press conference for Vermilion Oil. It was time he found out more about Sadie Thompson.

But Vermilion Oil…Something about the company—where had he seen it mentioned recently? Not the newscasts of the troubles the company had. Something else nagged him. He just couldn't figure out from where.

“Hey, boss, here are the sheets for today's appointments.” Lisa handed him a folder as she cocked out her hip, disrupting any chance of concentration that he'd mustered. “Another busy day. You have field visits this morning, then four appointments after lunch.”

“Thanks.” He nodded toward the TV. “Have you heard about those sabotages over at Vermilion Oil?”

She shook her head. “No, but a side reference to Vermilion Oil's in there.” She dropped the local daily on his desk. “Did you see today's top story?”

Other than the oil company's issues, what could the hot news be—a church bake sale? He bit back his sarcasm. He glanced at the captions. “What?”

“A murder. Some man killed just outside Lagniappe early this morning. Shot deader than a doorknob.”

In today's world, the news wasn't shocking. But in a small community, murders didn't happen all the time. He scanned the article. The man, Harold Daniels, worked as a facility manager for Vermilion Oil. Found dead out off Harden Lane in the early hours of the morning, shot in the chest. Local sheriff had no comment.

Jon shook his head. “It's sad what the world's coming to.”

“Makes you realize how short and precious life can be. Makes you want to live every moment to the fullest, yes?” Lisa gave a sad smile.

“I suppose so.” For a moment, Sadie's image floated across his mind.

“Jon.” Lisa's voice held uncertainty.

He glanced up. “Yes?”

“I don't like to gossip or anything, but about Caleb Frost's new guardian?”

Sadie. “Yes?”

“Well…do you know her history?”

“Just what was in the file.”

“I see.” Her face scrunched into a scowl.

“What is it, Lisa?”

“I don't know her personally or anything, but she has somewhat of a reputation around town.”

Something lodged sideways in Jon's throat. He swallowed hard. “What kind of reputation?”

“Just that she used to be a heavy drinker. And, uh, let's say she, uh,
dated
quite a few of the men in town.”

His gut clenched. Sadie was like Aunt Torey?

“I heard she changed and all, but I just thought you might want to know.” Lisa shrugged. “It might be important to Caleb's rehabilitation.”

He handed Lisa back the newspaper and reached for his briefcase. “Thanks. Guess I'd better get to today's field visits.”

“Sure. I'll hold the fort.”

He glanced at the itinerary she'd given him. Sadie Thompson and Caleb Frost weren't on the list for a home visit. Probably a good thing. He hadn't been able to get her out of his mind. Now, after hearing Lisa's report, he had to wonder why.