Read Online Bayou Corruption by Robin Caroll - Free Book Online Page B

sister broke out into a smile that lit up her tanned face, laced her hand through Alyssa’s arm and led her down the hall. “We have so much to catch up on. How’d it go at the police station this morning?”
    â€œThey called in the FBI. They don’t want me to leave until the case is wrapped up.” Alyssa said the words without emotion, but her heart hammered. She certainly wasn’t going to tell her sister about the strange sensations of being watched she’d been experiencing.
    â€œYou’ll get to stay longer?”
    â€œI suppose. I hope it’s not an imposition.”
    â€œDon’t be silly. This is your home, too.” CoCo opened the door to the cafeteria.
    No, the bayou wasn’t—it never had been. She gritted her teeth. CoCo didn’t seem to notice her angst, and charged ahead to the food line.
    Alyssa had no choice but to follow.
    Â 
    Women were nothing if not confounding.
    Jackson stared at his notes for the umpteenth time. What had he missed? He and Bubba had written out details of everything pertaining to the found money and the ensuing investigation. There had to be something here.
    He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and chewed on the pencil as he lifted his gaze. Outside, the wind kicked up a notch, tossing leaves in the air. Bubba’s house seemed too quiet with him in the hospital. The silence distracted him. Speaking of distractions…Jackson couldn’t get Alyssa LeBlanc out of his mind.
    Replaying the scenario in the sandwich shop didn’t give him any answers. She’d appeared interested, excited. Then something had changed. Her eyes had hardened, and she’d run out on him. He couldn’t remember a time when a lady had actually fled from his attentions. Not that he’d revealed his interest to Alyssa. At least, he didn’t think his attraction had been obvious.
    What had he said to cause her to do such an about-face? He’d confessed to being a reporter, but that shouldn’t have made a difference. They were in the same profession—she should understand his honesty in digging out the truth.
    Jackson dropped the pencil to the coffee table. He stood and ran a hand over his hair. Had he ever written an unflattering story about her, or someone she cared about? Most of his articles weren’t shining endorsements of the subject matter. He had a reputation for exposing people and scams, which had been the main reason Bubba’d called him to Lagniappe.
    Buzzzzz!
    His pocket vibrated. Jackson jerked out the BlackBerry. Ah, he had a message from his friend in the FBI.
    Â 
    SOUNDS LIKE YOU HAVE SOMETHING INTERESTING GOING ON IN PODUNK, U.S.A. OUR FIELD OFFICE SENT TWO AGENTS THERE TO INVESTIGATE ASSAULT ON A POLICE OFFICER. DO THESE RELATE? CARE TO SHARE?
    NO BLUE PONTIACS HAVE BEEN REPORTED STOLEN IN VERMILION PARISH IN THE LAST MONTH.
    ALYSSA LEBLANC. LOTS OF BACKGROUND. SEND FAX NUMBER AND I’LL SEND DETAILS.
    WHAT ARE YOU MIXED UP IN THERE?
    Â 
    Jackson reread the message. So the car wasn’t stolen. At least, not in this parish. Did the attackers use one of their own vehicles? Of course, they could’ve stolen the car from another parish. He’d have to check on that.
    He stared at the last part of the message. The journalist in his gut urged him to send the fax number and get the details. Maybe the information could shed some light on Alyssa’s bizarre behavior. But the Holy Spirit convinced him that sending the fax number wasn’t the Christian thing to do. Getting information in this manner would be prying into someone’s personal life. Yet, wasn’t that what he did for a living—dig into people’s private lives until he exposed the truth?
    Had God called him to be a reporter, or had revealing people’s darkest secrets always been in his nature? All this time, had he responded to the sins of the flesh, rather than walking in obedience to what his Lord