Free Gator Bait by Jana DeLeon Page B

to Agent Mitchell and they left the room. The door hadn’t even closed before Ida Belle and Emmaline hurried inside.
    “What a douche bag,” I said.
    Carter laughed.
    I whirled around. “Did I say that out loud?”
    “Yes,” Ida Belle said, “but I was thinking it.”
    Carter looked at me and grinned. “You were a maniac. That whole airhead routine made Agent Riker crazy.”
    I nodded. “It also made him leave. So what the hell is going on?”
    Carter shook his head. “I couldn’t get a thing out of them except that they’re with the ATF. I threw out some comments and questions that I thought would elicit a response, but I didn’t even get an eye twitch. Lobotomies must be required for government agents. I swear, they’ve all had their personalities scrubbed.”
    Ida Belle glanced at me, looking a little worried. I probably should have been offended, but I couldn’t muster up the energy to be. His statement held entirely too much truth, even about myself. My entire career, I’d essentially been a machine. Granted, a highly reliable and extremely efficient one, but personality hadn’t played into any of my accomplishments. At the CIA, personality was usually considered a detriment.
    “So all we know is that the ATF thinks you might have stumbled into their investigation,” I said, “but we have no idea what that investigation is about.”
    “Well,” Ida Belle said, “we know it’s alcohol, tobacco, or firearms. Tobacco seems a stretch. There’s plenty of illegal stills around here, but I can’t imagine the ATF cares about them.”
    Carter shook his head. “The sheriff doesn’t even care about them.”
    “That’s because one of them is his,” Ida Belle said.
    Carter stared at her in dismay.
    “Oops,” Ida Belle said. “Anyway, I suppose someone could be running the high-end stuff through the Gulf from Central and South America.”
    “Yes,” I agreed, “but they could be running any of the three, or even from Cuba. The ATF is on high alert in Florida. Someone smuggling cigars may have decided on an alternate drop point.”
    Carter studied me for a moment.
    Crap. That sounded way too much like law enforcement and not at all like a librarian.
    “I saw this special on television,” I lied.
    Carter blew out a breath. “Most of television is crap, but I happen to know that tidbit is accurate.”
    “So we’re back to not having a clue what we’re up against.”
    Carter straightened up in his bed. “Wait a minute. We are not up against anything. This is a police matter. How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of the way of law enforcement?”
    Ida Belle raised one eyebrow at him. “You mean like you intend to do?”
    “That’s different,” Carter argued. “I am law enforcement so that makes it my business.”
    “Agent Douche Bag told you to stay out of it,” I pointed out. “I don’t think he believes it’s your business.”
    Carter’s face turned a bit red. “That’s not the point. The bottom line is that something big is going on in my town—apparently right under my nose—and no way in hell am I letting some Fed screw up the investigation.”
    Emmaline gave him a stern look. “No way in hell are you running around chasing criminals until your brains are unscrambled.”
    “But—” Carter started to protest.
    “The way things are right now,” Emmaline said, “you could walk right up to the bad guy and not even know it. You have to wait until you remember.”
    “She’s right,” Ida Belle said. “Whoever took a shot at you isn’t going to know that your memory is fuzzy. Any proximity to them or whatever they’re hiding, even accidental, would prompt a repeat performance.”
    I could tell Carter wanted to argue, but he probably couldn’t find a line of reasoning good enough to trump logic. He shook his head. “So you just want me to sit here while anyone in Sinful could be at risk from an unknown enemy with an unknown agenda?”
    “I’m sorry,” Ida