Blackmail (6 page)

“Gentlemen.” She nodded, grabbed a legal pad and pen from the desk and took a seat. “What's the status?”

“The status, Ms. Thompson, is that one of Vermilion Oil's facilities has leaked approximately four hundred barrels of crude oil and saltwater into the bayou.” Mr. Morris shoved his wire-rimmed glasses back up his nose. “But that's just an estimate. The Coast Guard is on its way as we speak and they'll be able to give us a more accurate amount.”

Sadie did the math in her head. Four hundred barrels…the spill would take months and millions to clean up. Would this put Deacon in bankruptcy? No, she'd file immediately for federal grants to help in the cost of cleanup. But it would cost Deacon, and not just money.

“We don't know the extent of the leak just yet.” Deacon's voice cracked. “But it was sabotage again. The tank valves.”

She nodded, her mind scrambling for what to say. She glanced at Sheriff Theriot. “Let me guess—y'all have no suspects at this time?”

“We're following any and all leads, Ms. Thompson.” The sheriff kept his tone as rigid as his posture.

Sure they were. “What about the local group of fishermen and hunters who've been publicly speaking out against Vermilion Oil? They want the company out of their bayou. Surely that's strong enough motive for you to follow up with? A group of them are out back, waving picketing signs.”

Sheriff Theriot nodded noncommittally. “I said we're following any and all leads. We're looking into them. I'm not at liberty to discuss the investigation with you at this time.”

Only problem was that they wouldn't dig deep enough. She'd
have to make sure the leads were followed up. “Well, that's not good enough.” Sadie rose, grabbing her notebook. “Something needs to be done immediately.” She glanced at her boss.

“This facility is located near a federal wildlife reserve. The federal investigators are on their way.” Mr. Morris had such smugness in his words that Sadie tightened her hand into a fist.

Without waiting for anyone to reply, Sadie spun on her heel and marched from the room.

Only when she was safely ensconced behind her desk in her private office did she give in to the emotions and shake profusely.

She was in way over her head.
Oh, Lord, please give me wisdom. I don't know what to do.

“How can I help?” Georgia breezed into the office, tossing her purse onto Sadie's desk and fisting her hands on her hips. “This is a mess. I passed at least three media vans out front. Not to mention a group of local men and they didn't sound too happy.”

Sadie swallowed her groan. “Coffee. Let's start with caffeine.”

Georgia rushed from the room. Sadie lifted the phone and punched in her home number. The phone rang four times before her own recorded voice greeted her. She slammed the phone down. Great. Caleb wasn't back yet.

Georgia appeared at her side and set a steaming cup of coffee on the desk. Sadie mouthed her thanks and rubbed her temples. “What in the world is going on?”

“I don't know, but we can't wait for the sheriff to figure it out.” Sadie pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can you get me a list of all the local fishermen and hunters who've protested against us? About five of them are in the back parking lot, yelling. It's time we start digging into their motives.”

“You got it.” Georgia let out a heavy sigh. “What else can I do?”

Lifting her head, Sadie smiled at her assistant. “You can prepare a brief statement to release to those goons out front.”

“Stating what, exactly?”

Sadie glanced out her window into the bayou's darkness—would the night ever end? “Just state that we're in the twelfth and final round, have gone down for the count and can't be saved by the bell.”

D
irty-blond hair…wide, emotional eyes hiding…fear?

Jon groaned and slipped on his sunglasses. Sadie Thompson filled his waking thoughts, just as she'd haunted his dreams last night. The morning sun crested over Lagniappe, tossing prisms of light through the cypress trees lining the road. Jon squinted against the glare on the windshield as he turned into the parking lot of the office. Barely eight on a Thursday morning, and he was already distracted. All thanks to his mind not being willing to relinquish the images of Sadie.

Dinner—no, supper—with her had been interesting. He sensed a vulnerability in her, even though she fought to hide it well. It was her quiet susceptibility that caused a gut reaction in him. Had to be. Couldn't be that he was actually attracted to her. No, no way. Women with a reputation like hers were a complication to be avoided. She reminded him too much of Aunt Torey. He would put Sadie Thompson right out of his mind, totally and completely.

But as he strode into the building, Jon couldn't help but recall how nervous she'd been around him last night. Because of Caleb's attitude? No, he'd detected something else. Something more. Jon didn't know what, but his gut instinct told him she'd been hiding something from him. He'd always been a sucker for a mystery.

And Sadie Thompson was an enigma.

“Morning, Lisa.” Jon kept his fast stride as he passed her desk.
He had a pile of paperwork awaiting him because he'd had appointments all day yesterday.

Good, paperwork. Nothing like a mound of reports to process to keep his mind on work where it should be, not on some woman with killer eyes and a sad smile.

Sitting down, he booted up his computer and grabbed his case files. Reports had to be made and sent in to the home office or he'd get a nasty letter.

He spied the top folder and groaned. Caleb Frost. The initial interview and first home visit report needed to be completed and mailed in to the state. Jon scanned his notes, tapping a pen against the desk. In his professional opinion, Caleb didn't stand a chance of rehabilitation, and that's what he'd put in his report. He'd seen similar situations way too often and the success rate was below twenty percent. It was his job to use such percentages in his reports. He suspected Sadie wouldn't be too happy with his findings. He told himself he wouldn't care about what she'd think when she got her copy of the report.

Yet deep inside, he did care. Too much, if he was honest with himself.

His intercom buzzed, yanking him from his errant thoughts. Lisa's voice floated through the line. “Lance Wynn on line two for you.”

He reached for the phone. “Jon Garrison.”

“Hi, Mr. Garrison. It's Lance Wynn.”

“What can I do for you, Lance?”

“I need to reschedule my appointment for tomorrow. Your secretary said I'd have to talk to you.”

Lisa probably wouldn't appreciate being referred to as a secretary, but that was beside the point. “Why do you need to reschedule?”

“In case you haven't caught the news, my family's going through a lot right now. I need to help my father's company.”

Jon brought up Lance's file on the computer. “Yeah, I heard about that. Nasty stuff, the sabotage. And the murder at the rig.”

“It is. And last night, another one was sabotaged. This one's leaked stuff into the bayou. So you can see why I need to reschedule my appointment with you.”

Jon scanned the notes on the computer. “So, you and your father are working together?” According to the last entry, Lance and Deacon Wynn still weren't on good terms. Had the trials of the company brought father and son back together?

Lance paused. “I'm trying. I think if I can help my dad get through this, we'll be okay. I need to prove to him that I care.”

Sounded more like wishful thinking on Lance's part to Jon, but he had to admire the young man for trying to get back in his father's good graces. Then again, with millions of dollars at stake, who could blame Lance for going all-out in his attempts? Jon scrolled down his notes. “What about your relationship with your stepmother? How's that going?”

“We basically avoid each other.”

Not as much progress there, but then again, Lance hadn't referred to the new Mrs. Wynn in his usual derogatory manner, so that counted for something. “We talked about your acceptance of her, remember?”

“I'm working on that. I just know she's nothing but a gold digger, ready to bleed my father dry.”

“And you also know the choice is your father's, not yours. He's a grown man and has to live with any decisions he makes.”

“I realize that. I told you I'm working on it, but right now, we have to focus on the problems at the company. That's where I
can
help my father.”

Jon sighed and typed in notes on the computer. “Okay. Come see me Monday morning at nine.”

“Thanks, Mr. Garrison.”

Jon replaced the receiver, closed the computer file and glanced at the case folder open on his desk. At least Lance was trying to rebuild his life, mend his damaged relationship with his father, no matter his reason.

Which was more than he could say for Caleb Frost.

 

She looked like a day-old gar that'd washed up from the bayou.

Sadie stared at her reflection in the mirror, taking in her bloodshot, puffy eyes and pallor. Some signs of stress and sleep deprivation, makeup just couldn't hide. She made a face at herself and tossed the powder brush into the basket on the bathroom counter before moving to the kitchen.

Pouring herself another cup of coffee, she glanced out the window. Caleb stood at the curb, waiting for the bus with two other neighborhood high-schoolers who attended the summer session. She tried to ignore the pain over Caleb's mood this morning. She'd questioned him about his outing last night, but he'd been nothing but evasive. Honestly, she hadn't had the energy to keep trying to get details out of him. A root canal sounded more appealing. Besides, she had more suspects she needed to check into.

The other boys horsed around while Caleb bobbed his head to the music from his earbuds. The summer school minibus turned the corner. Sadie lifted her cup for another sip, but froze as her heart jumped into her throat.

One of the boys shoved the other into the road, just as a car gunned the engine to pass before the flashing lights danced on top of the bus. In a flash, Caleb grabbed the boy by his backpack and jerked him free from the path of the car, tossing him to the ground just as the bus skidded to a stop.

Thank You, Jesus!

She nearly dropped her cup, ready to bolt out the door and check on Caleb. But her brother gave a hand up to the boy now flat on his back in the grass. Together, the three boys crossed the street to clamber onto the bus.

Tears welled in her eyes. Caleb had just saved that kid's life. He'd thought quick and acted faster. Amazing. Despite his attitude around her, Caleb had a good heart. Sadie turned from the window and clicked off the coffeepot. She'd known her brother had some good in him. This was proof.

With a smile on her face, Sadie gathered her purse and briefcase. Even though work would be a beast today with the media, Deacon and her own exhaustion, Sadie was filled with happiness. Deep inside, Caleb had grown into a young man of integrity. She'd just have to break down his barriers where their relationship was concerned. Hope widened her smile. They would make this sibling relationship work. It would just take a little more time for him to learn to trust her.

Buzzzzzzzzzzzz!

She started. Who could be ringing her doorbell? She shouldn't even be home this late in the morning, but Deacon had said she could come in late. She'd stayed at the office until nearly midnight last night on the phone with the major networks in New York and the company's lawyers, fighting to do as much damage control as she could. On top of that, she'd gone over every single personnel file of the workers who were laid off. She'd verified alibis, confirmed those who had moved away, and now had a list of five men who'd risen to the top of her suspect list. She'd also filed the form online for the federal grant application. If Deacon could get some help with the cost of cleanup, maybe he'd be able to hang on. The long hours and stress explained her atrocious appearance this midmorning.

Buzzzzzzzz!

“I'm coming.” Sadie rushed down the hall, smoothing her blouse as she did. She gripped the knob and flung open the front door.

Nobody.

She stepped onto the porch, looking up and down the sidewalk along the road. Nary a person in sight. Odd, very odd. She turned to go back inside when she spied a white envelope on the rug in front of the door.

An envelope with her name written in bold, black, block letters.

Bile rose into the back of her throat. She snatched the envelope, glancing over her shoulder. Still no one in sight.

Sadie hurried back into the house, slamming the door behind her. Her hands trembled as she turned the dead bolt. With her
back against the wall, she slid down into a crumpled heap on the floor, clutching the envelope.

No chance they'd forgotten about her. Her heart pounded against her ribs. She pinched the bridge of her nose, struggling to regulate her breathing.

Better to get it over with than prolong the agony.

She slit open the envelope and pulled out the paper. Her heartbeat escalated as she read.

She let the letter drift to the floor. She couldn't do this alone. Not anymore. But who to turn to?

Not the police. No, she'd been hassled by them too often in her past. And Caleb was right—they'd probably pull him into child protective services and send him to a foster home. Besides, the letter told her not to go to the police. And it also said they were watching her.

Shivers rippled over her body.

But if she didn't go to the police what would happen to Caleb?

Tears escaped down her cheeks. Just when happiness and hope had bloomed, this letter had to come and drown them out with fear and loathing.

She needed someone she could talk to, someone who was official, but not in law enforcement—just in case someone tried to take Caleb from her. Who would believe her? She couldn't involve Pastor Bertrand—he and his family had been through enough in the past several months. She couldn't talk to Georgia—how could she involve her friend?

Jon Garrison's image flitted across her befuddled mind.

Could he help her? He had resources. He had to protect
Caleb, right? Would he honor the demand and not go to the police? Was she confusing her own personal feelings toward him with his position?

Was she willing to take that chance?

 

“You got the report from Terrebonne juvie.” Lisa smiled at him from the doorway of his office. “Pretty fast, considering. It just came by FedEx.”

“FedEx, huh? And the state won't let me use anything but the good ol' United States Postal Service.” Jon shook his head and took the envelope from Lisa. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” She hesitated at the door. “I'm going to lunch. Want me to pick you up anything?”

“No, thanks. I'll grab something later.”

She shrugged and left without further conversation.

Jon ripped open the envelope and withdrew a folder. He'd only tossed the packaging into the trash when his outer office door slammed.

“Mr. Garrison?”

He stood and moved from behind his desk.

Sheriff Theriot and two men in suits lumbered in the doorway.

“May I help you?”

The sheriff gestured to the men. “These are Special Agents Ward and Lockwood with the FBI.”

He nodded at the men. “The FBI? To what do I owe the honor?”

Agent Ward had a large bald spot that glistened under the lowwattage overhead lights. “We need a list of all parolees and those on probation in the area with a history of violence. Also, any who ever worked for Vermilion Oil.”

“And any who make their living fishing or hunting in the swamp.” Agent Lockwood wore a trimmed goatee that made Jon think of those clichéd villains in silent films.

“May I ask for what?”

“We're looking for suspects who could be involved with the sabotages of Vermilion Oil's facilities,” Agent Ward replied.

Ah, grasping at straws because they had nothing. “Why is the FBI involved? Seems more like state agencies would be handling the investigation.”

“The contaminants that were leaked into the bayou in last night's sabotage have spread to a federal wildlife reserve.” Agent Lockwood squared his shoulders. “That makes it our jurisdiction.”

Jon nodded and slipped behind his desk. He logged in to his active database, highlighted and printed those sorted by violent crimes. He did the same thing with those who worked at, or had worked for, Vermilion Oil. The printer hummed as the papers fed through the feeder. “There are about twenty names on each of these lists.”