As they exited Wal-Mart, Luc scanned the parking lot for possible threats but finally decided that the only threat to Maryse at the moment was him. He glanced over at her and held in a sigh. It simply made no sense at all. Maryse was so unlike the women he normally went for. His past conquests had all been girly and clingy and had the helpless woman routine down pat, whether helpless or not. They were fluff, eye candy…the kind of woman who made you look like a stud at the company Christmas party but not the kind you’d ever introduce to your family.
Especially not his family. Women like his mother and grandmother did not suffer weakness or fools.
Maryse, with her fierce and sometimes frustrating independence, was a breath of fresh air. And the fact that she didn’t fall at his feet and overload him with compliments only made him more interested rather than less. He glanced down at the shopping bags he carried and shook his head. Her wardrobe definitely needed work, but for whatever reason, the faded jeans and rubber boots she’d worn into the bayou had never been a turnoff. In fact, it was exactly the opposite, which was uncharted territory for him.
He’d been with women who’d worn their stiletto heels to bed, and he had to admit, it was a huge turn-on. But on the occasion when his guard slipped and he allowed himself the luxury of that one-second vision of Maryse in his bed, damned if she wasn’t completely nude except for those rubber boots. He felt his pulse quicken every time that picture flashed through his mind and knew that he would have to be very careful with Maryse Robicheaux.
Women who caused high blood pressure by wearing rubber boots were not to be taken lightly. If he made a genuine move in that direction, he knew there would be no going back. Maryse Robicheaux was no good-time girl or one-night stand. Maryse Robicheaux was the kind of woman who inspired men to make long-term plans.
They climbed into Luc’s Jeep, packages in tow, and Luc pulled out of the parking space. As he exited the parking lot, Maryse pulled out her cell phone and punched in a number. Luc felt his pulse quicken for a moment, wondering who she was calling, but relaxed when she asked to speak to the attorney, Wheeler.
Clutching the steering wheel, he stared down the highway. What the hell was wrong with him? He was acting like a jealous husband, worried that his wife might be talking to another man. He needed to get a grip and get a grip fast. He wasn’t going to be any help to Maryse if he spent all his time mentally undressing her rather than protecting her.
As Maryse finished her conversation and snapped the phone shut, he erased the rubber boot scene from his mind and looked over at her. “Wheeler meeting you this afternoon?” he asked.
Maryse nodded. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m losing my mind with the questions I asked, but I didn’t want to get into everything over the phone.”
“Probably best to spring a house exploding on him in person,” Luc agreed.
“He’s meeting me at the café at two, hopefully with answers to all the questions that I asked.” She sighed. “You know, somehow having this discussion over a cup of coffee and blueberry pancakes just seems wrong.”
“Probably more of a shot of rot-gut whiskey sort of moment.”
“Or battery acid,” she said, and frowned.
Luc studied her for a moment, the questions she’d asked Wheeler rolling through his mind. “Are you really thinking about signing the land over to Hank?”
Maryse shook her head. “No. But if everyone thought that I could, and had, that would take the pressure off of me if the whole point of this mess was someone thinking Hank was going to inherit in the first place.”
Luc studied Maryse for a moment, then frowned. She’d processed things quicker than he thought she would, so the thoughts rolling through her mind must be overwhelming. “You realize what you’re saying?” he asked, just to be sure they were on the same page. “You think someone wanted that land so bad that they killed Helena Henry thinking Hank would inherit and make a deal. And when you inherited instead, they shifted to killing you.”
He paused for a moment, carefully deciding on his next words. “It would take someone very desperate to attempt that in the first place. And it would take someone who knew enough about the land, and you and Helena, to know the score.”
“I know what I’m saying,” Maryse said, and stared out the car window. “Someone I know, possibly someone I consider a friend, is trying to kill me.”
Maryse’s two o’clock meeting with Wheeler started off a bit rocky. First off, both Luc and Sabine insisted on attending. Apparently they had decided that if Maryse couldn’t come up with a better idea for protecting herself, they were going to wring one out of the attorney. Wheeler entered the café, took one look at Maryse, and gasped.
“Oh, my word,” he said as he slid onto the chair across from her. “What happened to you?”
“A couple of things you should be aware of,” Maryse said, and told him about the truck wreck and the explosion at her cabin.
Wheeler looked at Maryse, then over at Sabine and Luc, apparently hoping this was all a joke and they were the hidden-camera crew. When no one said a word, Wheeler looked back at Maryse, cleared his throat, and finally said, “Are you implying that someone is trying to remove you from the inheritance line?”
“Jesus, Wheeler,” Maryse said, her exasperation with the situation overcoming any subtlety she might have otherwise had. “Where did you learn to talk that way?” She supposed his highbrow, cultured existence didn’t allow him to say or think of such sordid things as murder, but damn it, they had no time to *foot around reality. “I’m saying someone is trying to kill me. Are you with me now?”
Wheeler paled and used his table napkin to wipe his brow. “You’re sure?” he asked, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he shook his head and looked contrite. “I’m sorry. Of course you’re sure or you wouldn’t be here talking to me. I guess it’s just so startling because I can’t imagine anyone running the risk of an arrest for something that may be worth considerable money someday but isn’t really worth all that much right now.”
“If only that were true, Wheeler,” Maryse said, “but your client neglected to inform you of the billions of dollars in oil that are in the marsh. Seems she neglected to tell everyone that little bit of information, but apparently someone out there knows.”
Wheeler stared at her for a moment, then drained half his glass of water. “Billions? I can see where that might be a problem. So what can I do?”
“I need to know what my options are. That’s why I gave you that list of questions to research earlier.”
Wheeler nodded and pulled a tablet from his briefcase. “I have all the answers here. Where would you like to start?”
Maryse took a deep breath and looked over at Luc, who nodded. “Can I give the land back to the estate?” Maryse asked.
Sabine stared at Maryse in shock. “If the land goes back to the estate, won’t Hank inherit? I’m not saying you shouldn’t do it, Maryse, but I thought you were dead set against that idea.”
Maryse put one hand up. “I’m not saying that’s what I want to do, but I need to know all my options and how they would work.”
Maryse looked expectantly at Wheeler, but he shook his head. “I couldn’t find any provision that would allow you to forgo your inheritance.”
“Except being dead, of course,” Luc threw in, his expression dark.
Wheeler paled and tugged at his tie. “Well, yes, of course there is that.”
Maryse shook her head. “That’s the kind of option I was looking to avoid.” She drummed her fingers on the table and thought about her next move. “And the will you’re drawing up for me won’t be legal until the week has passed, right?”
Wheeler nodded. “That’s correct. The land isn’t yours to give until after the probationary period has passed. The only way you could create a document legally leaving the land to another party before the week was up is if there were no other direct heirs in line to inherit, but since there’s Hank…”
Sabine straightened in her chair and glared at Wheeler, her normal good manners shot to hell. “This is bullshit! You’re telling me she’s inherited this land whether it gets her killed or not, and she has no choice but to sit around and wait for someone to fire the shot?”
Wheeler blotted his forehead with the napkin again. “I’m afraid that’s the long and short of it, and I am truly sorry. I never would have let Helena put you in this position if I’d had any idea it would come to this. I just never imagined…” the attorney trailed off, obviously not even able to put what he couldn’t imagine into words.
Maryse sank back into her seat and considered the information. “So you’re telling me there’s no way to back out of this except to take a short ride in a long hearse. And if something happens to me, you have no choice but to pass the land to Hank, a direct heir, who will most certainly lease it to the oil companies before my body’s even cold. There’s no option to preserve this marsh other than me remaining alive for another three days?”
Wheeler gave her an apologetic look. “You could kill Hank.”
Sabine glared at him. “Do not give her any ideas.”
Maryse patted her friend on the arm. “Don’t worry, Sabine. As satisfying as that may sound, particularly at this moment, I’d still have to find him first.” She leaned in closer to Wheeler and scanned the café, just to make sure no one could overhear. “Okay, Wheeler, so we agree there’s no legal way for me to get out of this inheritance except dying, which sorta isn’t a good option for me, so what if we drew up a fake document that said I was giving up all rights to the land inheritance and shifting the title to Hank?”
Wheeler stared at her in obvious confusion. “But such a document wouldn’t be legally binding. That’s what we just discussed.”
Maryse nodded. “I know that, and you know that, but would anyone else?”
Wheeler’s face cleared in understanding. “Normally, I would never be party to such an act, and I’m not real clear on the legality of my drawing up such a document, even just for talk, but given the situation, I agree that this might be the only way to buy you the time you need.”
“Then let’s do it,” Maryse said. “Who knows. I might get really lucky and bring Hank out of hiding long enough to serve him divorce papers. I’d really like a divorce before I die and not the other way around.”
Wheeler cleared his throat and looked at her, obviously uncomfortable. “Of course, this plan will only work if whoever is after you intended Hank to inherit in the first place.”
Maryse nodded and stared down at the table. She’d already rolled that one around in her mind, but really, what other choice did they have? Surely whoever murdered Helena thought Hank would inherit. If even Wheeler had to look up the complete restrictions of the land inheritance, could anyone else possibly know all the mundane details?
Then there was the other thought, the thought still nagging at her from her earlier conversation with Luc. Maybe whoever wanted her dead hadn’t planned on Hank making it through the week either. What if by pretending to shift the inheritance to Hank, she made him the next target?
“How long would it take you to draw up the fakes?” Maryse asked.
“I can probably have something by this afternoon,” Wheeler said, “and there’s nothing stopping me from notifying all concerned parties now about the documents in the works if I knew where to find them. That would buy you some safety. I’ll give you my home number in case you locate Harold over the weekend.”
“I don’t think locating Harold will be a huge problem, and I’d bet anything he’s in touch with Hank,” Maryse said. “I’ll tell Mildred to spread the word during her manicure at the beauty shop, and the whole town of Mudbug will know within a couple of hours.” Maryse said. “So if you have the fake ready this afternoon, then the fraud just has to hold for three days.”
“That’s correct,” Wheeler replied.
Maryse bit her lip. “Do it. I’ll track down Harold so you can let him know.” Maryse took a deep breath and stared out the café window, trying to assuage her guilt by thinking of everything rationally.
After all, if she was wrong about everything, Hank would probably only have to worry about staying alive for twenty-four hours or so. Way better odds than her three and a half days.