A Different Kind of Man. Suzanne Cox
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should have told her the whole story. But what was the point?
She was out of the truck, waving goodbye before he realized she had opened the door.
“Umm. Thanks for the ride, and no hard feelings about the motorcycle thing, right?”
“None at all. I said so earlier, remember. Everybody has to let their bad side loose once in a while.” He smiled but she appeared to be less than congenial. She seemed…well, scared. There was no other word for the way her eyes rounded and her breath seemed to come in gasps. He’d seen plenty of people afraid—he’d been the cause of it many times—but he certainly hadn’t expected to see this woman afraid of anything. The worst thing was he didn’t know what had caused that expression.
She was on her front porch and in the house before he could say anything else. Stepping on the accelerator, he headed toward the highway. He hadn’t really had a good chance to tell her how his family had died, had he? But then again, why bother? It wasn’t like he was going to be asking her to dinner or spending long hours cuddling on the sofa with her, although just the thought of it made him want to give it a try. He shook his head. No way. He’d have to help with the search-and-rescue team, it was part of his job, but helping didn’t mean getting involved with Emalea.
He wasn’t going to have a relationship with a woman again. Being a magnet for death and destruction wasn’t conducive to happily ever after. That’s what he was, a death magnet. The loss of Christa and Connor had proved that.
The charred ruins of Christa’s car hung in his memory like the black smoke that had poured from the wreckage. Just another job for one of the men hired by the Mafia family he’d gone undercover to investigate. That assignment had ended his world and sent him, two years later, to live in this small town, far from the greedy fingers of organized crime. He’d never again let himself have so much to lose.
THE BEEPER IN EMALEA’S PURSE hummed as she finished her notes on Kent’s session. Her last for the day, thank goodness. Something was bothering the boy. Though he’d been gone for nearly an hour, she was still struggling with the feeling. Hints of violence at home had Emalea doing a very personal check. She didn’t want to miss any abuse that should be reported, nor did she want to read something into the situation because of her own experiences. Another session, then maybe he’d begin to trust her more. All she really wanted to do now was go home and soak in the tub for, oh, maybe an hour.
Her lips thinned and her pulse quickened to a rapid pace. Finding the number for the sheriff’s department on her beeper wasn’t usually a good sign. Putting her pen and notebook aside, she found her cell phone and called the number.
“Dana, it’s Em. What’s up?” Emalea tapped her finger on the desk hoping someone had dropped a boat motor in the river and needed help locating it.
“Thank goodness I got you, Em. There’s been a shooting at the boat launch at Red Bluff Road.”
“A shooting? What do you mean?”
“I mean someone’s been shot and killed. The body’s still there. Jackson thinks the shooter might have tossed the gun in the water. Matt wants you to get your gear and come have a look-see.”
Emalea groaned inwardly. “I’m on my way.”
Diving in the river was something she absolutely hated, though she’d never admit it. The water was muddy and she was never sure just what she might find in the heavy silt.
Leaving the school behind, she tried to keep herself calm. She hadn’t even asked who’d been shot. People just didn’t get shot in Cypress Landing. Unless you counted the time Ole Sebe’s hunting rifle had gone off and the bullet had grazed Grady Redding’s arm. Unfortunately, working search-and-rescue meant seeing some ugliness firsthand. She generally ended up knowing way more about crimes in the community than she wanted. This was definitely going to be one of those times.
THE SCENT OF MUDDY WATER, crushed grass and car exhaust was thick in the air as Emalea sat on the tailgate of her truck tugging her wet suit on over a bright blue swimsuit. The water wouldn’t be cold, but she liked the protection of the wet suit, and if the search took very long, even the warmest water could begin to chill.
She watched the deputies keep back a few nosy onlookers. With its grassy parking area and shade trees, Red Bluff boat launch was a more likely place for a picnic than a shooting. The launch itself was at the bottom of the hill and not quite as picturesque. The current here didn’t make it a very good place to launch a boat, so few people used it, but the parish kept it in working condition as best they could, though she remembered hearing that it was underwater only a few weeks ago.
With her weight belt fastened and her tank secured to her buoyancy compensator vest, she was ready to go. The buoyancy compensator, or BC jacket, could be inflated with air to keep her from sinking to the bottom of the river once she was underwater. The regulator she would breath from was also attached to the tank and swinging near her arm. With fins and an underwater metal detector in hand, she set off in a cumbersome gait to the river’s edge.
“Em, sorry I had to call you.” Matt took off his shades to wipe the sweat from his eyes. “I tried Bud and Cody, but they were both working out of town.”
The wet suit was making the heat feel oppressive, and Emalea took a deep breath. “No problem, I can do it. Was the victim someone from around here?”
Matt shook his head. “No. He had an Illinois driver’s license.”
A large body appeared between Emalea and the river. “What are you doing?”
Her mouth was dry, and she had to wet her lips with a parched tongue before she could speak. “I’m searching for the gun you think is in the river.” She flapped her fins against her leg. “Kind of obvious I would think.”
Jackson turned to Matt. “Absolutely not. She’s not doing this. If there’s no one else, I’ll do it.”
Matt winked while attaching a safety rope to the front of Emalea’s vest. “She’s doing it, Jackson. You’re the investigator. I need you up here coordinating. She’s the search-and-rescue diver. This is what she does.”
Jackson didn’t move for a moment, then his fingers closed around her upper arm.
“No. It’s too dangerous. The current’s fast, and who knows what could be down there.”
Emalea made a half step but the restraint at her arm tightened and she jerked to loosen his grip. When he wouldn’t let go, she felt a little sick. She twisted roughly away from him, nearly upending herself. Matt held her shoulder to keep her from falling.
“Enough already. We did handle things before you got here.” The sheriff glared at Jackson.
Bossy, and overbearing, that’s what he was. She poked his arm with the metal detector. “Don’t worry, boss, I can handle it.” She moved away from him and waded into the water.
Following her, he caught her upper arm again but this time with less force. She noticed Matt still watching them. If Jackson planned on manhandling her, he’d have a huge fight on his hands. Instead he helped her balance, as she lifted one foot then the other to slide her fins in place. When she reached for her mask, he still held on.
“I’ll be needing that arm.”
He tightened his grip. “Be careful. If something doesn’t feel right, I want you back here immediately, understand?”
“You act like the shooter’s sitting on bottom waiting for me.”
“I don’t want you sitting on bottom.”
“Not gonna happen.”
Grabbing the slate and pencil hanging from her BC, he jotted compass coordinates. “Use your compass and work this grid. I don’t know how deep it is here but don’t go deeper than fifty feet.”
Emalea flashed him a thumbs-up then settled her mask on her face. She placed the headphones attached to the metal detector over her ears