~ When Evil Loves ~

by

Syliva Rochester

Prologue

Daybreak, April 7, 2000

River Road, South of LSU

The dark-colored car veered off the narrow, asphalt road running parallel to the river and stopped a few feet in front of a chain-locked gate. Beyond its rusted bars, an overgrown driveway snaked through a grove of pecan trees and disappeared into the fog. The driver lowered the window and listened. Nothing. Only a foghorn and the distant rattle of a diesel engine broke the silence.

Musty odors and sounds from the river mingled with the mist and rolled down the grassy slope that formed the levee. As the dampness drifted through the opened window, the driver breathed in the mixture. Like a magical potion, the intoxicating air heightened his anticipation. He would do his job well.

Once again the foghorn blasted a warning. Though the river lay hidden by the levee, the man pictured the muddy Mississippi churning against its earthen captor, searching for a breach, one undermining fissure that would set it free.

His intended victim might look for a way to escape, but like the river, he wouldn’t find it.

Resting his head against the seat, the man closed his eyes and whispered, “This is the only way, Lindsey. You’ll forget him in time.”

The rising sun cleared the silhouetted branches of the trees and pierced the foliage with silver fingers. He glanced at his watch. Now.

Popping a lever beneath the dash, he climbed out and raised the hood. Through the thinning fog, he caught sight of his quarry, a lone jogger less than a quarter of a mile down River Road.

“Right on time.” He walked around the car and opened the trunk.

With his back to the runner, he pulled a syringe from his shirt pocket and tossed the protective cap onto a plastic tarp inside the trunk. Poised to strike, he tensed when the runner drew near.

“Having trouble? Can I--”

With one swift move, the driver turned and plunged the needle into Michael Vidrine’s neck.

One

May l, 2003

Atlanta, Georgia

“Up the reward another fifty thousand,” Lindsey Vidrine said, cradling the phone against her shoulder and scribbling a line of circles across a note pad. “My husband had no reason to walk away. Why can’t I convince you?”

“I’m sorry, Lindsey, but Michael’s disappearance just doesn’t add up. With no evidence of foul play and no demand for a ransom, all we have is a missing person.”

Lindsey listened for the hundredth time to Lieutenant Barnes’s explanation, a finding she refused to accept. She twisted strands of her hair around and around a finger, a nervous habit she enjoyed since childhood. Shaking her head in denial, she fired back when the detective paused.

“Michael loved me. He--” The intercom buzzed. “Just a minute.” She placed the detective on hold and answered the page.

“What is it, Judy?” she snapped at the receptionist.

“Randy wants to see you in his office.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be sharp with you. Tell him I’ll be there shortly.”

Staring at the blinking light, she wondered if she would ever discover what happened to Michael. After three years, the odds of finding any leads grew slimmer. She pushed the button. “You still there?”

“Yeah.”

“I know you’re doing your best, but how can someone vanish without a trace? There must be something the police overlooked.”

“Possibly, but we combed the area thoroughly and found nothing. No fresh tire tracks. No footprints on the levee or riverbank. No grass trampled down.”

“Just for me, will you give it another try?”

“Tell you what. A new guy came onboard yesterday. Maybe a fresh set of eyes and ears can turn up something.”

“Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

Lindsey hung up the phone and leaned back in the chair. Like so many times before, she relived her last moments with Michael.

“Sleep in, my princess,” he had whispered then tucked the blanket around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. “I’ll fix us some coffee when I get back.”

Instead, her first cup of coffee had come from Detective Barnes’s thermos.

~ * ~

“These look great.” Randy Glavin spread the eight-by-ten photographs over the conference table. “Just the type of scene I want.”

Sam Gilmore watched the editor mull over the proofs from last weekend’s shoot in the marsh. “Look, Randy, when you called, I jumped at this assignment. Not just because of the money, but because I’m familiar with your magazine’s circulation. I figured I could reach some of your more influential subscribers.”

Randy glanced up with calculating eyes. “I wouldn’t think you’d need more recognition.”

“That’s not what I meant. I’m hoping to catch the attention of certain politicians.”

“Yeah, right,” Randy mumbled. He rearranged the photos and resumed his evaluation.

“Better yet, the pictures might influence their wives. If I could get a few of those Washington socialites to take up the cause of saving the wetlands--”

“This one.” Randy held up a photograph of a sunset over a desolate stretch of beach. “Yeah, give me more shots like this. That’ll get their fantasy juices flowing.”

Sam shook his head. “You haven’t heard a word I said.”

Randy lowered the photo and tossed it onto the table. He crossed the room and settled his hefty frame into the leather chair behind his desk.

In the uneasy silence that followed, Sam wished he’d kept his mouth shut. Friend or no friend, Randy held the purse strings.

“I heard you,” Randy grumbled, “but I don’t give a crap about your political agenda. I hired you because you’re the best at what you do.

“Southern Leisure is about the lure of adventure and the beauty of secluded hideaways. It lets the viewers find secret places to do whatever it is they can’t do here. Come to think of it, that’s probably why I have a lot of politicians as subscribers.” Randy gave a low, closed-mouth chuckle. “If I don’t give them what they’re looking for, they’ll take their business elsewhere. You know what losing their business would mean.”

“Yeah, no more assignments.” Sam shoved his hands into his pockets and walked toward the windows overlooking downtown Atlanta.

“Mr. Glavin?” A soft voice drawled over the speakerphone. “You asked to see Lindsey. Shall I have her wait?”

“No, Judy, send her in.”

Sam stared at the overlapping Interstates. He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets and bit back words he knew would cost him a paycheck. Might as well face it--what he hoped to accomplish in this layout wasn’t going to happen. If only he didn’t need the money to see him through the summer.

He crossed to the table, gathered up the photographs and stuffed them into his briefcase. No doubt the arrival of Randy’s next appointment signaled the end of their meeting.

“Okay, Randy, I’ll get you what you want. If there’s nothing else, I might as well head for the airport.”

“Not so quick,” Randy said.

The door to his office opened and a tall, willowy blonde entered the room. She moved with the ease and flair of a model. Even in her gray, tailored suit, she commanded attention. Her short, sassy hair fell just beneath her ears, and the silky strands bounced in cadence with her long strides.

“Come in, Lindsey. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Sam didn’t wait for Randy’s introduction. “Hi, I’m Sam Gilmore,” he said, meeting her halfway and extending a hand. Her tapered fingers slipped into his palm. Like an animal picking up a scent, he breathed in her fragrance then quickly let go and stepped back.

“Nice to meet you, Sam. I’m Lindsey Vidrine,” she said, looking up at him.

The melodious sound of her voice played on Sam’s ears like good jazz.

“Lindsey is one of my top photographers. Like you, she hails from Louisiana.”

“Really? Where?” Sam stared into deep blue eyes rimmed in black. Her features fit together beautifully--the nose, the chin, the lush lips, the spacing between the eyes. A sculptor couldn’t ask for a more idyllic model.

“I was reared near the little town of St. Dumain. It’s on the northern most edge of East Baton Rouge Parish. Before coming to Atlanta, I lived close to LSU.”

“Have a seat, you two.” Randy pointed to matching wing-backed chairs facing his desk. His eyes shifted from Lindsey to Sam. “This might be bad timing since I just jumped your case, Sam, but I’ve got a favor to ask. I want you to take Lindsey on your next trip into the marsh and show her the waterways. She has a style all her own, and I’m curious to see how she’ll handle some of your favorite locations.”

Caught off guard by Randy’s request, and definitely not wanting a tag-along, Sam stammered for a reply. “I... uh... you know I work alone.” The startled expression on Lindsey’s face told Sam she knew nothing of Randy’s proposal. “Besides, I don’t believe Ms. Vidrine would find the accommodations very appealing.”

“Trust me,” Randy countered. “Lindsey can handle any assignment I give her. Would a five-thousand dollar bonus improve the accommodations?”

Sam wet his lips at the thought of the extra cash, but the sensuous package of curves sitting next to him could put a wrinkle in his plans. A few days alone with her, and he might start thinking with his glands. Not good. Not good at all.

“Why not spare the lady an unpleasant ordeal? Don’t you have a male photographer who could make the trip?”

Sam could almost feel fire igniting in Lindsey’s eyes. She bolted from the chair and jerked her head toward Randy. While her voice remained low and unruffled, her words dripped with sarcasm.

“Since Mr. Gilmore prefers not to work with me, I’ll get back to my project.”

“Sit down, Lindsey. I make the decisions around here.”

She eased back into her chair and let out an exasperated sigh.

“Look, Sam, more than once I’ve offered you a job with my company. It pays a hell of a lot more than a dead-end teaching job, which keeps you unavailable most of the time. If you teach Lindsey about the marsh, she can pick up the slack.”

“Well, I--”

“She’s the best I have, a fast learner and capable of taking care of herself. You won’t be babysitting.”

Sam knew he didn’t have a chance in hell of getting out of this situation, not without jeopardizing his future with Randy. “I was only thinking of the lady.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Lindsey retorted. “I’m a professional, and I expect to be treated as one.”

“Oh, I can see we’re going to get along just fine.”

“Okay, you two. Cool it,” Randy said. “So, I can count on you?” Randy nodded as if anticipating Sam’s agreement.

“How much time do we have?” Sam asked.