Agency man? How does this guy know anything about me, especially who I work for? Other than my direct supervisor, nobody except the Boudreaus knows I work for the CIA. OrI use to. Now I only do special assignments, and I’ve got the option of saying no.
“Who are you?” Gage’s question was gruff. It was too early to be playing games of twenty questions and he hadn’t had any caffeine yet.
“Gator Boudreau.”
“Douglas’ brother?” Gage had heard stories about Etienne “Gator” Boudreau, both from Douglas as well as from others at the CIA. Gator was a bit of a legend at the Agency, someone who managed to stay beneath the radar on every job he worked. Most people outside the Agency and immediate family had no idea Gator had worked on some of the most important cases in U.S. history. He was considered what was commonly termed a spook, invisible and oftentimes deadly.
“Douglas and Hank are my little brothers. You’re one of Douglas and Patricia’s Lost Boys, right?” The corner of Gator’s lips curved upward the tiniest bit. “Heard through the grapevine you were in New Orleans. Working a case?”
Gage motioned him inside. Didn’t need to be airing all his business in the hallway. “Nothing related to official business. A friend called, asking for a favor. Since I owe him, I couldn’t exactly say no.”
“Hmm. Wouldn’t have anything to do with Suzanna Dawkins showing up in a bar in the French Quarter last night would it?”
Good grief, does the man have spies everywhere? I only talked with her less than twelve hours ago.
“What makes you think that?”
Gator simply smiled an enigmatic smile, and sauntered over to sit in the single chair in the sparse hotel room. With an inward shrug, Gage perched on the edge of the mattress, waiting for Gator’s response. The other man appeared completely relaxed, in his faded jeans, a worn pair of steel-toed boots, and an AC/DC T-shirt that had seen better days. If he’d passed the man on thestreet, he’d never have suspected him to be another other than a fisherman or somebody who lived on the edge of the bayou. Not one of the smartest and most skilled assets the CIA ever produced.
“This is my town, my people. We tend to keep our eyes and ears open for anything that might cause problems in our area. They tell me…things. Like when a murderess graces our city.” His former friendly tone became decidedly colder with each word, and Gage felt their chill straight to his bones.
“I don’t think she murdered anybody. But you’re right, she is why I’m here. That’s the favor I’ve been asked to repay. My friend wants me to help prove Suzanna didn’t kill her husband.”
Gator leaned back in his chair, his gaze studying Gage intently. Gage fought the urge to get up and pace, because the older man’s focused intensity made him antsy. But he’d been trained by the best, and managed to keep his seat. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to score a few brownie points with Gator Boudreau.
“You believe her.”
Gage nodded. “I do. Something about the evidence isn’t adding up. I’ve only just started digging, because I didn’t know anything about the case until last night. I’ve been preoccupied with another case, and hadn’t been following the news in the papers or online.”
Gator snorted a laugh. “You believe anything you read in the papers? I took you to be smarter than that.”
“Nope, but I can gauge the public opinion by what the reporters are feeding them, and they have tossed Suzanna Dawkins to the wolves. I plan on asking Lucas to check with a few of his colleagues in Dallas, try to see if there’s anything they’ve heard that hasn’t made it into the press.”
“Lucas—that’s a smart move. The boy’s got a good head on his shoulders and he’s like a bulldog with a bone when he digs his teeth into a story.”
Gage nodded. “I’ve also spoken to a friend who used to work at the Agency, retired now, but he lives in North Texas. He gave me the name of the detective working the case. He might be a bit of a problem, because he’s planning on riding this case to a promotion.”
“Ah, a glory hound. That’s gonna make things harder. Doubt you’ll get many answers from him.” Gator reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn business card and handed it to Gage. “After you talk to the lead detective, give Jimmy a call. If there’s any dirt to be found, Jimmy’s somebody you want doing a deep dive. He’s fast and he’s discreet.”
Gage looked at the card, seeing simply a phone number in black slashed across the white.
“Thanks.”
“In the meantime, I’d check with the medical examiner that performed the autopsy. See if he found anything suspicious or out of the ordinary.” He paused for a second before adding, “I’ve heard a lot of good things about you, Newsome, so I’m going to trust your instincts. Let’s go prove Ms. Dawkins didn’t kill her husband.” After dropping that bombshell, Gator stood and headed for the door.
“Let me give you my cellphone number, in case you find anything.”
“Don’t worry, son, I’ve already got it.” Without another word, Gator was gone. Gage stood for a whole minute, looking at the closed hotel door, and pondered the enigma that was Gator Boudreau. He reminded him of his namesake, who’d sneak up on you from the water and pull you under without warning.
“Glad he’s on my side,” he whispered, shaking his head. He definitely needed a large dose of caffeine after this unexpectedwake-up chat. Chuckling, he tried to picture a young Douglas Boudreau growing up with a big brother like Gator. Personality-wise, they were total opposites, but he sensed that underneath the veneer of their personalities, they were both men of honor and loyalty, ones you could depend on.
Maybe with Gator working in the background, he might be able to solve this case, and prove Suzanna innocent.
Suzanna hadn’t gottenmuch sleep the night before, tossing and turning after her meeting with Gage Newsome. The mysterious man piqued her curiosity from the minute she laid eyes on him. Dark hair cut short, not quite in a miliary style but it suited his face. The deep blue of his eyes had been almost hypnotic, searching for her every secret. Brandon McKinney said he’d trust Gage with his life. That he was an honorable man. She wasn’t sure yet what she thought about him, if she was being honest with herself. Gage was the kind of man she’d have turned to before she got married. The whole tall, dark, and handsome type had always been her kryptonite. With Gage, there was also that dark edge, the whole bad boy vibe. She grinned. Forget tall, dark, and handsome, Gage Newsome was the epitome of tall, dark, and deadly.
Running the hairbrush through her hair, staring at her reflection, she couldn’t help wondering what he thought of her. Long blonde hair with flowing waves which always gave her a beachy-type style unless she spent long minutes with the flat iron. There weren’t curls, but waves that tended to get frizzy and puff out when the weather got humid. And in Texas that was more often than not. Her eyes were what she considered a dull brown. Sometimes they reflected the light just right and looked more golden or amber colored, but still brown. She knew shewas passably attractive, and when she made an extra effort, or had one of the make-up experts working on her for an event, she was actually pretty, but for the most part she’d rather not wear any of it, and pull her hair back in a ponytail. A good day was working in the garden, with her hands deep in the rich black soil or riding her horse, Jezebel.
Will I ever do any of those things again? I’d give anything to go back in time six months and change everything.
