Blackmail (8 page)

Having met the agents in question, Jon could understand Bruce's distress. But he hadn't known about the wife's connection to the oil company. “Sit down and think carefully.”

Bruce plopped onto the chair. “Okay.”

“Try to tell me exactly what the agents said.”

“Well, I'd just finished work and was heading to my car when Sheriff Theriot came up with these two guys in suits.”

Jon nodded.

“The sheriff introduced them as FBI agents. I gotta tell you, I went to sweatin' right then and there. I don't much care for federal agents.”

Jon could relate.

“Anyway, they started asking me about my wife' sex-husband. I don't really know the guy, just know he used to knock Allie around when they were married. They seemed real interested in how I felt about my wife's former abuser.”

Jon could see exactly where they were going in their line of questioning. “What did you tell them?”

“Just that I thought the guy was a wuss. Any man who'd hit a woman…well, those kind normally won't face someone their own size.”

While true, Jon could just imagine what had to run through the agents' minds. “Then what?”

“They started asking me about did I know he worked for Vermilion Oil. I said I knew that. They asked if I knew where he was stationed and I told them I didn't.”

Oh, they were setting up all the basics. “What did they say?”

“Wasn't so much what they said, but how they acted. Looked at each other and gave little nods. Kinda like they were going
aha.
”

Yeah, Jon knew exactly what Bruce meant. “What else did they say or ask?”

“One asked me where I was on July fifth and July fourteenth. Before I could answer, the other asked me where I was last night.”

The dates of the sabotages. “What did you tell them?”

“The truth. Last night, I was out fishing off Fisherman's Cove.”

“And the times before?”

“I couldn't remember. I can't.”

Oh, this wasn't good. “Bruce, this is very important. You need to try and remember where you were on the fifth and fourteenth. You need an alibi.”

“I know. But I can't remember.” Bruce stood and paced again. “I know I need an alibi, but I honestly can't remember. What am I gonna do? What if they come to the house? Upset Allie? You know this pregnancy hasn't been the easiest for her. They'll stress her out.”

“I know. Calm down.” Jon stood, as well, then perched on the edge of his desk. “Bruce, you need to remember where you were on those nights. Otherwise, they will continue to think of you as a suspect in the sabotages at Vermilion Oil.”

A gasp sounded from the doorway. Jon shot his glance there, and his heart hiccuped.

Sadie stood perfectly still, her eyes wide. “Bruce Boudreaux is no more involved in these sabotages than I am.”

Jon stood. “Sadie.” He glanced at Bruce. “I'm sorry, but this is private—”

She crossed the room to touch Bruce's shoulder. “I know you aren't involved, Bruce. You can't be.”

While Jon knew he should escort her from the office, he noticed Bruce didn't look too upset at her presence. “Why do you say that?”

“Because Bruce would never do anything to compromise his and Allie's life.” She spoke with such resolve. How could she be so sure?

“I wouldn't. I changed.” Bruce's voice was barely above a whisper.

“I know that. I know that people can and do change.”

Ah. So that's where the resolve came from. Jon nodded at the door. “I appreciate your input, Sadie, but really, I've got this.”

Her eyes narrowed, then she let out a little huff. “Bruce, if you and Allie need anything, you just call me.”

“I appreciate that, Sadie.”

She didn't bother to say goodbye to Jon as she spun and marched from his office, leaving Jon to assure the shaken and scared Bruce Boudreaux.

T
he
cooyons!
How could the FBI even entertain the notion that Bruce Boudreaux could be involved with the sabotages?

Sadie had been shocked and appalled by Bruce's dilemma yesterday afternoon. Bruce, along with his sweet wife, Allie, had been among the first to welcome Sadie into the Vermilion Parish Fellowship last year. He was a good Christian man and she no more believed him guilty of sabotage than herself of murdering Jolie Landry. Of course, she'd been accused of exactly that the previous year. The police had caught the guilty party, but it was hardly surprising that she'd been distrustful of the way police jumped to conclusions ever since.

That the FBI had come and harassed the man infuriated Sadie. She knew exactly what it felt like to be an innocent suspect. Her righteous anger drove her so much that she now sat in her car in the parking lot of the grocery store, right down from the sheriff's office. Whether the FBI were working out of the office didn't matter—Sadie determined she'd set the record straight where Bruce was concerned.

She glanced around the parking lot, looking for anyone out of place. Not that she'd really know. She opened her cell phone and dialed the direct number for the sheriff's office.

The familiar dispatcher, Missy, answered as Sadie identified herself. “Morning, Sadie. How're you this beautiful Friday?” Ever since the woman had gotten engaged to Jayden Pittman, manager of the jazz club, she was downright perky.

Which, today, truly annoyed Sadie. “I need to talk to the sheriff.”

“I'm sorry, hon, he's not in right now. He's out with the FBI agents.”

Sadie swallowed the scream. “When do you expect him back?”

“Well, now, I don't rightly know. From what I could overhear, they were going to talk to a few people and then meet with some of those government people. You know, the ones crawling over everywhere at your company.”

Oh, Sadie knew which ones, all right. “Thanks, Missy.” Maybe she'd be able to catch the sheriff and the FBI flunkies at her office. That wasn't exactly going to the police. And surely the blackmailers realized law enforcement would swarm Vermilion Oil because of the sabotages.

She wiped her brow against the smoldering heat—and it wasn't even nine in the morning yet—and steered toward Vermilion Oil. She almost dreaded reporting to Deacon the outcome of her meeting yesterday with the hunters and fishermen. Had it not been for CoCo, she probably could have defused the men. But no…as soon as CoCo had suggested Vermilion Oil shut down all the wells in the bayou until the saboteurs were caught, the men jumped on that and wouldn't quiet down and leave until Sadie had assured them she'd take their suggestion to Mr. Wynn himself. As if he'd do such a thing. He couldn't afford to.

Then again, could he afford
not
to?

Sadie slammed the car door and rushed into the building. A group of men huddled in the corner, whispering and murmuring. She stopped at the receptionist's desk. “What's going on?”

“Those guys are some of the ones Mr. Wynn laid off last month.”

“Why are they here?”

“To talk with Mr. Wynn.” The young woman lowered her voice. “Security's already on alert.”

Sadie glanced over her shoulder at the men. None looked happy. “Does Deacon know they're here?”

The woman nodded. “He said he'd send someone down in a few minutes.” Her eyes widened as her gaze lit on the growing-louder-by-the-minute group. “I hope he hurries. They make me nervous.”

Understanding, Sadie nodded and moved to the elevators. That group looked as potentially disgruntled as the one she'd faced yesterday. Good thing she didn't have to deal with them. Being railroaded by CoCo had Sadie's self-confidence level down to next to nothing.

She stepped off on the third floor to meet a pacing Georgia. “Girl, where have you been?”

“I had a couple of things to take care of this morning.” Sadie inched by her assistant into the office. She tossed her purse and briefcase onto her desk. “What's up?”

“Deacon's been looking for you. Says he has a group of people for you to talk to. And he wants an update from your meeting yesterday with the environmentalists.”

Oh, surely not…“This group he wants me to talk to today, they wouldn't happen to be the oil field workers we laid off last month, would they?”

Georgia shrugged. “I don't know who they are. All I know is Deacon is antsy to find you.”

As if on cue, Deacon Wynn strode into the office. “There you are, Sadie.” He took her gently by the elbow and led her toward the elevators. “I hate to throw a meeting at you last-minute, but those laid-off workers are downstairs, demanding someone talk to them.”

“You want me to talk to them? I don't know what to say.”

“It's all part of public relations, Sadie.” Deacon pressed the down button. “Just tell them something to appease them, anything to shut up their public rants against us.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don't think anything I can say will mollify them, Deacon. They were laid off. How can I justify that?”

“Just repeat what you wrote out for me in that speech I gave when I laid them off.”

Was he serious? “Deacon, the main reason we cited for laying men off was because you had invested in the state-of-the-art constant monitoring systems of the facilities to protect the waterway environment.”

“Oh.”

“For obvious reasons, I can't use the same excuse, yes?” Had he really not remembered what he'd said? This wasn't the Deacon Wynn she knew and respected. The stress must be getting to him even more than she realized.

The elevator door slid open. She stepped in the way so it couldn't close. “They want to hear from you, Deacon. You. As owner of the company. They'll rip me to shreds no matter what I say because they want to hear a Wynn explain.”

“Then let me talk with them.”

Sadie and Deacon spun around. Lance leaned against the wall. “If they want a Wynn to talk to them, let me do it.”

Deacon's face contorted into a grimace. “How'd you get up on this floor?”

“Doesn't matter.” Lance pushed off the wall. “Let me help you out here, Dad. Ms. Thompson's right, she can say whatever she wants and it's not gonna be good enough for them.”

An angle formed in Sadie's mind. Lance might be the saving grace to the whole situation.

“I've told you—I don't want or need your help.”

“Wait a minute, Deacon.”

Both boss and son stared at her, questions in their eyes.

“Lance, do you really want to help your father out here?”

“Of course. That's why I'm here.”

She turned to Deacon. “If he goes down there and presents himself as part of the managing team, assuring those men we're looking into the situation, as well as considering having the facilities returned to the old method—which would mean re-employment for a good majority of them—that just might be enough to satisfy them for now.”

Her boss frowned. “I've invested a lot of money in those self-monitoring facilities.”

“And look what's happened.” She paused, waiting for Deacon to erupt. When he didn't, she forged on ahead with her idea. “You need to let everyone know the Wynn name stands for something more than making money. That you care about the environment and the parish. That you won't rest until the people responsible for polluting the bayou are punished.”

Deacon's eyes lit up brighter than she'd seen in the past month. “So they'll sympathize and support me.”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath, preparing to lay the bombshell of her idea. “And to further prove your point, have Lance announce that you're shutting down production on all the wells in the bayou until the culprits are found, so that no further contaminants can be leaked.”

Her boss shook his head. “I can't do that, Sadie. I'd go bankrupt for sure.”

“I've already applied for your grant to assist in cleaning up the bayou and we should hear back on that next week, at the latest. But if you leave the rigs operational in the bayou, you take the chance of them being sabotaged, as well.”

“I've beefed up security.” Deacon stuck his chest out.

“Which means nothing if another facility is damaged and you have to spend even more in cleanup, even if you do get the grant.”

“She's right, Dad.”

Deacon bounced his gaze from Sadie to Lance, then back to Sadie. “You think it'll work?”

“I think it'll not only appease the men downstairs, but also the group of environmentalists I spoke with yesterday.” She held her breath, waiting to see if he'd go for it. “Those two groups are on top of the suspect lists I handed over to the investigators yesterday. We need to stop these sabotages until the investigators have time to zero in on the guilty party.”

Running a hand over his thinning hair, Deacon glared at his son. “Can you say just what Ms. Thompson tells you to say?”

“Of course.”

Sadie's heart pounded. Could this be the answer to both her pressing work issues?

“Fine. Do it.” Deacon scowled at her. “You cut him off if he veers even a millimeter from what you tell him to say.”

“Yes, sir.” She motioned for Lance to enter the elevator and followed suit. She pressed the button, tossing a smile at Deacon as the door slid closed.

“Whew. I didn't think he was gonna go for it.” Lance finger-combed his hair, using the reflective walls of the car as a mirror.

“Listen, Lance, I only have a minute to brief you. Here's what you need to say…”

 

Put simply, Sadie was amazing.

Jon stood off to the side, watching Lance address a group of angry laid-off workers with words of grace and hope. Words that were
not
his own. Jon noticed how Sadie stood to Lance's immediate right, every now and again touching his elbow. She'd clearly coached him and coached him well. Lance had never sounded so good.

Jon had stopped by to see Sadie, not knowing Lance would be present. Yet he was grateful he'd been able to see the young man doing what he said he'd be doing—trying to help his father.

Sadie was content to let someone else take the glory of her words. Truth be told, shutting down the wells in the bayou until the crisis had passed was probably her idea, as well. Jon couldn't imagine Deacon Wynn willingly losing money to save the environment. How she'd gotten him to agree to the idea, he couldn't imagine.

She was amazing.

And now he was here to ask for her help. He could've called, but he didn't want to. He wanted to see her. Needed to.

He hated having to ask for anyone's assistance, least of all a woman he couldn't get out of his mind, but he didn't have a choice. She was the one person he believed could actually do something. And for that, he'd swallow his pride, fight his attraction and ask.

Lance ended the meeting with little fanfare, then turned and followed Sadie to the elevators. Jon moved to follow, but the receptionist stopped him. “Sir. Sir, may I ask where you're going?” A burly security guard moved to the counter.

“I'm here to see Sadie Thompson.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but I need to see her. If you'll buzz her, I'm sure she'll tell you it's okay.”

“Well, sir, Ms. Thompson's a busy woman.”

“I understand that. If you could just call her, please.”

“Who are you?” asked a voice from behind him.

He turned to face a petite young woman. “My name's Jon. Jon Garrison.”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “And why do you want to see Sadie?”

“It's…” He scrambled for what to say. “Uh, it's personal.”

The woman raised a single eyebrow. “Really? Personal, huh?”

“Yes.” It'd been a long time since a woman pinned him in place with probing questions. Jon hadn't liked it then and he sure didn't like it now. He refused to give out more information.

“Well, then.” She turned to the receptionist. “Call Sadie and tell her a Mr. Garrison is here to see her.” She glanced back at Jon before returning her attention to the lady behind the counter. “See what she has to say. We can always have security toss him out if need be.”

Oh, great. Wouldn't that just be a hoot? He could see the headlines now—“Probation Officer Escorted Off Private Property.” Lisa would probably eat it up.

The receptionist lifted the phone and whispered. The young woman slipped him a sly wink and extended her hand. “Georgia Maldon, Sadie's assistant.”

He shook her hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, no, the pleasure's mine, I assure you.” Why did he get the feeling Georgia enjoyed this encounter on a much deeper level than just on the surface?