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 roadblocks out of Angola forced him to steer 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 there, 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.
“Yeah. Thanks, Jane,” Rick said, his voice softening.
“Why is this so important to you?” I asked. “Your job is hunting supernaturals. This isn’t your sister kidnapped. Your family wasn’t harmed except for a self-inflicted flesh wound. The culprits and victims are human. What’s PsyLED’s interest?”
“PsyLED could give a rat’s ass for this case,” Rick growled, his black big-cat sounding in his voice. “But all this came from our job down there. It’s unfinished business.”
That I understood perfectly. I nodded. “Okay. I’ll stay. I’ll track the escaped prisoner. And I’ll let the sheriff’s office handle hostage negotiation and taking prisoners unless I see a reason to do otherwise. And this one’s on me,” I added. “Like you said. It’s unfinished business. Get Nadine to send all pertinent info to my cell and e-mail.”
I ended the call and dialed the Kid, the electronic genius member of the firm. The Kid—given name Alex, and sometimes still called Stinky because of his occasional lack of personal hygiene—answered, “Jane. Where are you? Eli said we’re doing pizza tonight.”