“The police think he’ll head north along the waterways.” Clara handed me a linen tea napkin, like a cocktail napkin but classier. “They think he’ll likely end up back in Alexandria.”
Rick said, “I’d agree, except for the tiny mention of a Cherokee female. I did some checking. This hasn’t been released to the press, but the female werewolf you killed, Jane, was the prisoner’s little sister, Victoria Wayne.”
My heart fell. I had already begun to consider that, somehow, the crimes were related to me. I’d just gotten the whys of it all backward. Of course, I hadn’t killed the were-bitch, but I was the visible face of Yellowrock Securities. YS’s previous hunt for the “wild dogs” in the area had hit the news about three days after we left Chauvin. My photo, taken directly from the pages of YellowrockSecurities.com, had stared back at me for all of fifteen seconds on the news that night. No one had mentioned the presence of Rick and PsyLED, or the Younger brothers. Just me and the fact that I had stayed in the Sandlapper. Apparently I looked good on the small screen. My partners had made fun of me for being a movie star for days. I had figured that was the end of it. I’d figured wrong.
My fifteen seconds of fame was all it took for John-Roy to decide I’d killed his sister.
Rick went on, relentless in his cop voice, that toneless expression they use when they tell bad news. “The facts, ma’am. Just the facts,” courtesy of Joe Friday on Dragnet. “We had thought that the law enforcement road blocks out of Angola forced him to steer him south, but with Uncle Harold’s statement, I’ve revised that scenario. It’s only been a few days since John-Roy’s sister died, and it isn’t like he had Internet access in the state facility. He’s looking for you, and because of the media, he thinks you’re still in Chauvin.”
That made sense of a sort. “Go on.”
“According to the timeline we’ve developed, he took the women to make travel easier. Their families didn’t notice they were gone until night came and they didn’t come home. No one put two and two together for hours. No one was searching for an armed man traveling south with two females. And by then they were gone.”
“That’s not the only reason why he took the women,” I said softly.
“No. Probably not.” The cop tone was stronger now, harder, colder.
“And he’s got them, down here, in the swamps, somewhere. Because he thinks, what?” I tried to think like an angry human. “His sister died in the area and the media posted it all over that I’d stayed here. So therefore Harold and Clara would know where I was?”
“That’s what we think.”
We. The cops. “Does he have survival skills? Weapons? Friends who might help?”
“Yeah. Also not released to the public. A pawnshop was broken into in Thibodaux,” Rick said. “Guns, ammo, and camping supplies were stolen. Some dehydrated meals. A first aid kit. And John-Roy has a former cell mate living in Galliano. Goes by the moniker Snake. Snake didn’t show up for work this morning. Lastly we just discovered two DBs in a gas station bathroom. We think it might be the work of our missing felon.”
DBs. Dead bodies. I said, “So we have two missing women, probably already traumatized. Two cons, maybe together, maybe not. All four human. And a lot of swamp. Why are you calling me?” I figured I knew, but I believed in laying my cards on the table and I wanted that from my sorta boyfriend.
“John-Roy and Snake are hunting for you. I think once John-Roy regroups and gains access to the Internet and other media, he’ll figure out that you live in New Orleans and he’ll head there. That needs not to happen.”
I realized what he meant. It was hunt for them out here where there were fewer possibilities of collateral damage—meaning dead humans—or have them hunt me in the city, where someone unrelated to the case might get hurt. It was a no-brainer.
“The sheriff’s department might be willing for you to help track the guys.” He didn’t say it, but with his cousin Nadine being the sheriff, it was likely he had already broached the possibility. More of those tangled familial ties. “I’d send Brute to help you track, but I need him here.”
I snorted a laugh. That one I hadn’t expected. Rick’s werewolf partner and I mighta worked together okay for a while, and I was grateful that he saved my life and all, but he was a pain in the butt. “I got another idea who I can get to help.” Not that I’d tell Rick who. Some secrets should go to the grave. “You want to notify Nadine, and tell her to keep her men from shooting me and my team?”
Sarge was related to Rick and Harold and Clara. He was also a lone wolf, a werewolf who ran and hunted alone beneath the full moon, and had done so for decades—sane—all of which was unheard of for werewolves. He was a grizzled war vet and pilot, and at the time I had felt pretty good about not telling the world about him. About not filling him full of silver rounds. I felt even smarter about it now. If he would help me.