Free Lethal by Sandra Brown Page A

Royale offices sounded like she had the hots for Coburn. Described him in detail. Right down to his boots.” He grinned up at the other two men. “She said she never saw him in anything except cowboy boots.”
    “What do you make of the blood?” Tom asked.
    “It’s a few drips, not a puddle, so he couldn’t be hurt too bad.” Fred slapped his thighs as he stood up and called back to one of the other officers, “Get the lab boys from the sheriff’s office down here.”
    He put another pair of officers in charge of cordoning off the area. “Twenty feet wide. From the house down to the water. And tell Mrs. Thibadoux to keep her damn dogs away from here.”
    “They might pick up his scent,” Tom said hopefully.
    Fred scoffed. “Not that sorry pack. Where were they when Coburn was stealing her boat?”
    Good question. Strangers were milling all over the property and none of the dogs had even growled.
    Doral, who’d been staring out over the sluggish water of the bayou, used his thumb to push his dozer cap farther back on his head. “I hate to throw a wet blanket over this, but if Coburn put into the bayou here—”
    “We’re screwed,” Fred said, catching his twin’s meaning.
    “What I was thinking,” Doral said unhappily.
    Tom hated to show his ignorance, but he had to ask. “What were you thinking?”
    “Well,” Doral said, “from here, Coburn could’ve gone in any one of five directions.” He pointed out the tributaries that converged into the widest section of the bayou behind the Thibadoux property.
    “All five of those channels branch off into others, and those into others. It’s a network. Leaving us with miles of waterways and swamp to cover.” Fred’s elation had rapidly dissipated. Looking out over the watery view, he placed his hands on his hips. “Shit. We should have had this son of a bitch in custody by now.”
    “Won’t argue with you there,” Doral said.
    “He worked on the loading dock, for crissake,” Fred grumbled. “How smart can he be?”
    Tom refrained from pointing out the obvious, but he did say, “It’s like he chose this point on purpose, isn’t it? Like he knew that these creeks came together at this spot.”
    “How could he know that if he’s not from around here?” Doral asked.
    Fred took the wad of chewing gum from his mouth and pitched it overhand into the dark, murky waters of the bayou. “It means he had an escape route all planned out.”
    Tom’s cell phone vibrated. He took it from his pocket. “My wife,” he told the two men.
    “You’d better take it,” Fred said.
    Tom didn’t talk to anyone about his circumstances at home, but he was certain people talked about them behind his back. Lanny was never mentioned, but everybody acquainted with the VanAllens, even by name, knew about their son. Someone as disabled as Lanny aroused pity and curiosity, which is why Tom and Janice had never taken him out in public. They wanted to spare not only themselves but their helpless son the humiliation of having people gawk.
    Even their friends—former friends—had revealed a morbid curiosity that got so uncomfortable that he and Janice had severed all connections. They no longer socialized with anyone. Besides, their friends had borne normal, healthy children. It was painful to listen to their talk about school plays, birthday parties, and soccer games.
    He turned his back and answered the call. “Is everything okay?”
    “Fine,” she replied. “I’m just calling to check on you. How’s it going?”
    “We just got a breakthrough, actually.” He shared withher the recent discovery. “Good news, it’s likely that we’ve picked up his trail. Bad news, it leads into the bayou. That’s a hell of a lot of swampy territory to cover.”
    “How long will you be?”
    “I was about to head back. Don’t hold supper on me, though. I’ve got to stop at the office before coming home. How’s Lanny?”
    “You always ask that.”
    “I always want to