As I watched her leave, my gaze fell on a dark blue Tahoe cruising slowly around the pond. I went still, watching and ever-so-slightly wary. There were plenty of Tahoes just like the one Pierce drove.
But not that were actually being driven by Pierce. Dark hair, powerful build, strong jaw. Yep, that was him in the driver’s seat. Why on earth was he here?
I grabbed the bucket and hurried up the path to the relative concealment of the trees. Once there, I crouched and watched as the vehicle rounded the far end of the loop. Was he following me? And if so, why? I couldn’t think of a single reason that made sense. Not to mention, I’d been here for several minutes already, so either he’d been pretty far behind me, or he was being impatient and looking for me now. Which really didn’t make sense, since my car wasn’t exactly concealed.
My bafflement increased as Pierce pulled to the side of the road just shy of making the full loop. Definitely not in a position to be watching me. I suspected he had zero idea I was here. He had some other goal in mind.
Wildly curious, I dashed to my car, stuffed the bucket into the trunk, then grabbed a pair of field glasses. As soon as I returned to my semi-concealed vantage in the trees, I trained the glasses on Pierce. I had a silly instant of worry that I’d see him looking straight at me through his own field glasses, but his attention appeared to be on a house up the street, the second one from the pond.
My curiosity increased about a billion percent, and I scrutinized the house in question. It wasn’t a mansion like some of the houses here, but it was definitely nice. Two story, pale brick, with pretty landscaping full of flowers, and a half-circle driveway where a white Audi was parked.
“Vewwy intewesting,” I murmured. Interesting and ever-so-slightly annoying. I needed to be at work in twenty minutes, and I had to drive past the house Pierce was watching to leave the neighborhood. He’d paid no attention to my car in the little parking lot, but he’d certainly recognize it as mine as I went by. And even though we were each here on completely separate errands, I knew damn well he’d give me grief of some sort, because . . . Pierce.
If I had to wait him out, I might as well be nosy. I took note of the address then pulled up the property tax website on my phone and did a search.
Owner: Pennington, Jane Alexis.
“Holee shiiiiit,” I breathed. Pierce was stalking his ex. Or rather, Pietro’s ex, who was also known as Congresswoman Jane Pennington. She and Pietro had dated, but Pierce had told us no one was to inform her that he was Pietro, zero exceptions, full stop. And clearly he hadn’t spilled the beans to her, or he’d be knocking on the door instead of skulking around. I bit back on a laugh. Talk about unexpected. Pierce was always so serious and careful and focused, and here he was clearly pining for his lost love.
I glanced at my watch. He needed to pine a little faster, or I was going to be late to work.
The minutes ticked by as Pierce watched the house. Right when I was about to say to hell with it and zoom past him, he lifted his phone. After a conversation that lasted maybe half a minute, he drove off.
I checked my watch. Barring disaster, I’d make it to work with minutes to spare. Add that to freeing the frogs and meeting Portia, and this was turning out to be a damn fine day.
Chapter 13
Allen called when I was less than a mile from the morgue. “As soon as you clock in, head out to Highway 1268 near the parish line. Traffic fatality. Nick’s already on his way in his own car.”
“Gotcha.” I held back a sigh that I’d be working with Nick again. Yes, please, let me have more tension in my life. But I couldn’t really complain since Allen was great about scheduling my shifts around my classes. “By the way, did the, uh, exterminators ever come?”
“Wait, what? Did you see a roach?”
“No! I mean . . . bugs.”
“What kind of—Oh. Yeah, they came. No roaches.”
“You do know I’m talking about listening devices, right?”
Allen huffed. “Yes, Angel. I get it. No bugs.”
After he hung up, I muttered a few choice curses. If the morgue wasn’t bugged, then how the hell had Saberton known about the gators and the shambler?
Baffled, I clocked in, snagged the van keys, then got on my way.
• • •
Louisiana State Highway 1268 was a long, two-lane stretch of nothing, giving me plenty of time to think about my life choices.
Too bad it took only about three minutes for me to accept my choices as a lost cause—for now at least. With another twenty minutes left to kill, I started the audiobook of the essay collection I was supposed to read for my English class. Listening to my required reading not only made these long drives bearable, but since my reading speed was about as fast as a snail on Xanax, it also saved me hours and hours of time that could be better spent doing important stuff. Like sleeping. Or watching funny videos online. Unfortunately, a legit and legal audio recording of the collection—which I’d’ve gladly paid for—didn’t exist. Instead, I p
irated a PDF copy, found a program that would read it to me, and also bought the paperback so I wouldn’t feel guilty about the piracy.
The robotic tones of the e-narrator droned on as I left what passed for civilization in St. Edwards Parish. After several miles of pine forest, I crossed an ancient drawbridge where rust-covered struts supported two counterweights that would lift the entire roadway to let boats pass.
By some miracle, I made it to the other side without the bridge collapsing into brick-red dust. The pines gave way to water oaks and tallow trees, and wildflowers bloomed madly along the shoulders in a frenzy of gold and magenta and purple. I crossed yet another decrepit drawbridge, and the trees thinned, interspersed with low scrub and grass. A few miles farther, red and blue lights flashed just beyond a sharp curve.
A helicopter rose from the highway and zoomed off, heavy thwup-thwup-thwup-thwup vibrating my van. As I neared the line of emergency vehicles, a Fire and Rescue ambulance drove away from the scene, lights dark. I exchanged waves with the driver, then did the same with the driver of the passing fire truck.