towels, and handed it to her. He tried not to watch as she pulled off a few sheets and scrubbed them over her face and hair.
He failed; that was sexy too. Damn.
She snatched the Walmart bag out of his lap and stuffed the wet paper towels in it, retrieving the knife. She handed the paper-towel roll back to him. “That son of a bitch gets close enough to me, he’s going to know how Tante Eva felt. I’m not afraid of blood.”
Celestine Savoie might be mighty and fierce, but she was too petite to take on a six-foot-plus killer, especially using a knife straight out of the Walmart display case. That wasn’t sexist; it was just fact. He’d explain that to her. Later.
“Tell me what happened before we go to the cabin,” he said. “I called the sheriff’s office and they have a deputy en route. It’s probably better for him to get there first and look around.”
She’d been tearing at the knife’s packaging and almost had it open. “Thanks for calling them. I realized after I got you on the phone that it was probably something the sheriff’s office would handle. I just . . .” She stilled her hands and looked up at him. He’d give half his next paycheck to read her expression, but he couldn’t. He could read a criminal’s body language like a pro, but women had always been a mystery. Good thing he didn’t encounter many female criminals as an LDWF agent or he’d have to find a new line of work.
“I don’t know why.” She shrugged. “Calling you felt like the right thing to do.”
He smiled and cleared his throat when their gazes stayed locked too long. Good thing her skin flushed and she looked away so she wouldn’t see him practicing his Creole tomato impression.
Yeah, there was chemistry, all right. He was out of practice but he wasn’t blind.
“Tell me what happened.” Gentry kept his focus on the bright-green-striped awning of the Jiffy Stop, since he apparently had lost his ability to remain professional while looking at her.
Ceelie described her early-morning activities before driving to Houma to deal with Eva’s estate. “Do you think he was watching me, waiting for me to leave?”
Gentry shook his head and finally cautioned a look her way; she stared straight ahead, so he did the same. “No way to know unless we find some kind of evidence on the bank, and the rain’s probably ruined that chance. You said you smelled cigarette smoke, though, so he couldn’t have been gone long.” Or he was sitting out there watching her, more likely, which both pissed Gentry off and scared the hell out of him. The guy was a predator, no matter who he looked like, and Ceelie was in danger.
“What happened when you got back from Houma?”
“I got out of the truck, smelled cigarette smoke, walked around the porch to the front of the house, and ran right into that skull. God, it scared me.” She hunched her shoulders. “Then I saw the writing on the door. I thought it was blood, but now I realize it’s probably just red paint. When I saw a shadow moving on the bayou, I panicked and ran.”
“That was the smartest thing you could’ve done.” Rage settled in the pit of Gentry’s stomach. Jena had been right; he needed a conversation with Warren ASAP, to let him know his concerns about Lang. Even if his brother hadn’t risen from the dead—and Gentry didn’t believe he had—he could give them a more detailed description.
If it was his brother, risen from the ashes like some psychopathic phoenix . . . Gentry didn’t want to think about that.
He leaned forward and cranked the truck. “The deputy should’ve had time to get to the cabin by now. It’s Adam Meizel. You probably met him when you first got back to the parish.” Which would make them acquaintances.
“Name sounds familiar.” She opened the passenger’s-side door and turned to slide out. “I’ll meet you over there.”
“No, wait.” Without thinking, Gentry reached over and settled a hand on her arm. It felt
He failed; that was sexy too. Damn.
She snatched the Walmart bag out of his lap and stuffed the wet paper towels in it, retrieving the knife. She handed the paper-towel roll back to him. “That son of a bitch gets close enough to me, he’s going to know how Tante Eva felt. I’m not afraid of blood.”
Celestine Savoie might be mighty and fierce, but she was too petite to take on a six-foot-plus killer, especially using a knife straight out of the Walmart display case. That wasn’t sexist; it was just fact. He’d explain that to her. Later.
“Tell me what happened before we go to the cabin,” he said. “I called the sheriff’s office and they have a deputy en route. It’s probably better for him to get there first and look around.”
She’d been tearing at the knife’s packaging and almost had it open. “Thanks for calling them. I realized after I got you on the phone that it was probably something the sheriff’s office would handle. I just . . .” She stilled her hands and looked up at him. He’d give half his next paycheck to read her expression, but he couldn’t. He could read a criminal’s body language like a pro, but women had always been a mystery. Good thing he didn’t encounter many female criminals as an LDWF agent or he’d have to find a new line of work.
“I don’t know why.” She shrugged. “Calling you felt like the right thing to do.”
He smiled and cleared his throat when their gazes stayed locked too long. Good thing her skin flushed and she looked away so she wouldn’t see him practicing his Creole tomato impression.
Yeah, there was chemistry, all right. He was out of practice but he wasn’t blind.
“Tell me what happened.” Gentry kept his focus on the bright-green-striped awning of the Jiffy Stop, since he apparently had lost his ability to remain professional while looking at her.
Ceelie described her early-morning activities before driving to Houma to deal with Eva’s estate. “Do you think he was watching me, waiting for me to leave?”
Gentry shook his head and finally cautioned a look her way; she stared straight ahead, so he did the same. “No way to know unless we find some kind of evidence on the bank, and the rain’s probably ruined that chance. You said you smelled cigarette smoke, though, so he couldn’t have been gone long.” Or he was sitting out there watching her, more likely, which both pissed Gentry off and scared the hell out of him. The guy was a predator, no matter who he looked like, and Ceelie was in danger.
“What happened when you got back from Houma?”
“I got out of the truck, smelled cigarette smoke, walked around the porch to the front of the house, and ran right into that skull. God, it scared me.” She hunched her shoulders. “Then I saw the writing on the door. I thought it was blood, but now I realize it’s probably just red paint. When I saw a shadow moving on the bayou, I panicked and ran.”
“That was the smartest thing you could’ve done.” Rage settled in the pit of Gentry’s stomach. Jena had been right; he needed a conversation with Warren ASAP, to let him know his concerns about Lang. Even if his brother hadn’t risen from the dead—and Gentry didn’t believe he had—he could give them a more detailed description.
If it was his brother, risen from the ashes like some psychopathic phoenix . . . Gentry didn’t want to think about that.
He leaned forward and cranked the truck. “The deputy should’ve had time to get to the cabin by now. It’s Adam Meizel. You probably met him when you first got back to the parish.” Which would make them acquaintances.
“Name sounds familiar.” She opened the passenger’s-side door and turned to slide out. “I’ll meet you over there.”
“No, wait.” Without thinking, Gentry reached over and settled a hand on her arm. It felt
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