Waters Run Deep

This is starting over…not putting down roots

Getting attached to someone nearly sidelined agent Annie Perez’s career. So she’s not about to make the same mistake twice.

This latest undercover assignment in Louisiana—acting as nanny for a famous couple under threat—suits her perfectly. She can investigate quietly and under the radar. That is, provided she can stay clear of way-too-suspicious detective Nate Dufrene.

Easier said than done when Nate seems to be around every corner. And with each encounter, Annie is tempted a little more by this son of Bayou Bridge. Yet regardless of their chemistry, they are worlds apart, and she’s not willing to compromise for love again. But when she needs an ally, Nate has her back. And that could convince her to get very attached!

The sound of a car behind her had her scooting off the road.

Annie broke her stride to check over her shoulder. Gray government car.

Nate Dufrene.

He slowed beside her. “Wanna ride?”

“I’m almost there. And I’m pretty sweaty. Wouldn’t want to mess up your seats.”

“I don’t mind.”

Her mind screamed get your butt back to the house and leave sexy Nate Dufrene the hell alone. Her libido, however, told her to take the candy the man offered and climb into his car like a naughty little girl.

“If you don’t mind,” she said, pulling open the passenger door.

“You look like you could run circles around me.”

“Don’t know about that. You look fit enough,” she said.

“Oh, yeah? Maybe we can go for a run together.”

Her body tightened unwillingly as thoughts of other things they could do together flitted through her mind. Lord, what was wrong with her? Goal: prove to Sterling she could do a phenomenal job as an investigator so she could make more money and get better assignments. Barrier: hunky detective.

She made a noncommittal sound.

“Tell me, Annie. Is that a yes or a maybe?”

Dear Reader,

The people of Louisiana have a joie de vivre that spills over and encourages visitors to get up and pass a good time. Whether it’s slurping gumbo, listening to the sounds of zydeco or watching the pageantry of Mardi Gras, this place is unique.

I love my state, from the winding piney hills of the north to the flat delta of the south and all the places in between. We live, we love and we eat…a lot!

I hope you enjoy my venture into Acadiana with the odd and sometimes kooky matriarch Picou Dufrene and her three disarming boys. If the food isn’t a good enough reason to visit Bayou Bridge, the sexy Cajun men will seal the deal. Life is good here on the bayou. Tru dat.

Look for the other two books in this The Boys of Bayou Bridge miniseries. Under the Autumn Sky will be out in July 2012 and The Road to Bayou Bridge will hit the shelves in September 2012.

I love to hear from my readers, so drop by and leave me a note at www.liztalleybooks.com or drop a letter in the mail to: P.O.

Box 5418, Bossier City, LA 71171.

Happy reading,

Liz Talley

Waters Run Deep

Liz Talley

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

From devouring the Harlequin Superromance novels on the shelf of her aunt’s used bookstore to swiping her grandmother’s medical romances, Liz Talley has always loved a good romance. So it was no surprise to anyone when she started writing a book one day while her infant napped. She soon found writing more exciting than scrubbing hardened cereal off the love seat. Underneath her baby-food-stained clothes, a dream stirred. Liz followed that dream, and after a foray into historical romance and a Golden Heart final, she started her first contemporary romance on the same day she met her editor. Coincidence? She prefers to call it fate.

Currently Liz lives in North Louisiana with her high-school sweetheart, two beautiful children and a passel of animals. Liz loves watching her boys play baseball, shopping for bargains and going out for lunch. When not writing contemporary romances for the Harlequin Superromance line, she can be found doing laundry, feeding kids or playing on Facebook.

Books by Liz Tal ey

HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

1639—VEGAS TWO-STEP

1675—THE WAY TO TEXAS

1680—A LITTLE TEXAS

1705—A TASTE OF TEXAS

1738—A TOUCH OF SCARLET

All backlist available in ebook. Don’t miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the following address for information on our newest releases.

Harlequin Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

For the people of Louisiana who may face hurricanes, crooked politics and record droughts, but who never fail to invite a neighbor to the table to share their delicious dishes and their lives.

I’m honored to live among you.

Special thanks goes to Caddo Parish Sheriff Detective Mick McDaniel and to the Medeiros family who showed me true Cajun hospitality.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

The marshlands off Bayou Lafourche, Louisiana, 1986

SAL COMEAUX GLANCED in the rearview mirror for the fifth time that night and muttered a curse. The child still stared at him with those freaky blue eyes. No longer crying, just gazing into his soul with stabbing accusation.

He clutched the steering wheel tighter, trying to ignore the weight pressing down on him. Guilt. God. Whatever. It threatened to suffocate him. Cold sweat rolled down his back as he searched the inky night for the dirt road. Ten years ago if he’d a blinked, he’d a missed the turn. Much had changed in his life, but one thing was constant—the turn to the Cheramie homestead.

“Almost there,” he said to the void surrounding him, not bothering to look back at the girl.

He felt so alone.

Why had he let Billy Priest talk him into doing something so dadgum stupid? His friend had ulterior motives that had nothing to do with mere money. Billy hated Martin Dufrene. Thought the man responsible for all his problems, for losing his family. Dufrene was a bastard, but he’d not caused Billy’s wife to leave taking their son with her. Her leaving had been a result of Billy’s alcoholism and quick fists—the reason the man had lost his job at the Dufrene mill. “An eye for an eye, and money for us both,” Billy had said, knowing Sal was soft—and that he owed half the bookies in Baton Rouge, guys meaner than a water moccasin and just as dangerous. Self-preservation had won out over loyalty, and Sal had convinced himself no harm would come to the child. He was weak, true, but he was no monster.

He’d not have the child’s blood on his hands.

He risked another look even though the girl’s eyes felt like God’s sitting upon him, like in that damn Gatsby book he’d had to read in eleventh grade. The child’s gaze was steadfast, her small mouth slack, her tear-streaked cheeks pale.

She gave him the creeps.

An old white fence post materialized in the tangled brush beside the dirt road like a specter. Relief flooded him. The old landmark tilted crookedly in the headlights. He hooked a turn left and bumped down the pitted road toward the old house where his grandmere lived.

The place wasn’t welcoming. Old, wooden and leaning like half the stumps in the land surrounding it. Though he couldn’t see it, he knew a tributary of the Bayou Lafourche sprawled behind the old house, a dark ribbon unraveling across lank swamp grass.

He loved Mere’s house almost as much as he hated it.

He braked on the crushed shell drive and shut off the headlights of the stolen truck as the screen door cracked an inch or two.

Then he saw Pap’s shotgun muzzle appear.

He rolled down the window. “It’s me.”

Moonlight flashed on the metal of the gun. She didn’t lower it. “Who’s ‘me’?”

“Sal.”

The gun disappeared and the door opened. “Why you here? I ain’t seen you since your mama ran off with that Morgan City boy.”

“Sorry, Mere. I—”

“Didn’t need you around here no how, so why you here tonight?” Her voice sounded tired, disinterested. She’d never liked him much, but he was her only known grandson.

He eased out of the truck, mindful Grandmere might decide he wasn’t worth a damn and hoist the shotgun again, but he knew the old woman was his only chance to hide the child until he could figure something out. What, he wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t killing no child and feeding her to the gators. Billy and his threats be damned.

“I got a little girl here.”

His grandmere shut the door and stood in her bare feet and flannel housecoat. Her face sagged in the light of the moon. She’d aged. Life was hard on the bayou and Enola Cheramie wore that life like a badge. “A girl?”

“Yeah, uh, my kid.” He hesitated. Hadn’t thought much more beyond getting the child here. Mere wouldn’t keep no child that wasn’t blood. “Um, my old lady’s strung out, beats the ever-loving shit out of the kid. She tried to kill the girl tonight. Grabbed a—”

“You got a child? Off who?”

“Some gal from Houma. You don’t know her. She’s bat-shit crazy, and I should have never taken up with her. Just need the girl to stay with you for a spell.”

Grandmere shook her head. “I can’t keep no child. I’m still fishing. Got no one to watch her.”

He jerked the girl from the backseat of the cab. She didn’t make a peep. Just allowed herself to be dragged toward the porch.

Her hair was tangled and her dress stained with the black dirt of the bayou. He’d tried to do what Billy had wanted. Tried to kill the child. He’d stood holding a trembling gun on her. He wasn’t weak. He’d killed dogs when they’d needed putting down, but this child was different. And she wouldn’t close her eyes. Just looked at him. Like Christ on the crucifix had looked down on him at Our Lady of Prompt Succor. Vacant. Hopeless. And he couldn’t pull the trigger.