Free Sandra Hill - [Jinx 03] by Wild Jinx Page B

Lake Pontchartrain.
Is there an antidote for a love bug bite? . . .
    John was helping to load equipment onto the hydroplane for its second run to René’s cabin. It would probably take two more trips to get them all there. But it was a balmy day . . . well, balmy for southern Louisiana, only eighty today . . . and no one was in a rush.
    The water plane was parked in the stream fronting Remy’s ten-acre property, some distance from the huge house he’d built to accommodate his family that included his wife Rachel and seven . . .
seven
. . . kids, both biological and adopted. He also had a houseboat down on the bayou which he used for guests.
    Everyone was steering clear of Brenda, who was doing a final check of the supplies. She was in one snarky mood, probably missing her husband. Hey, if he was a woman, he would probably miss Lance Caslow, too, not because he was so good-looking, but because there’d be NASCAR tickets for life.
    He and Famosa and Peach had thoroughly checked over the diving gear. The depth of the water at the spot they hoped to search was roughly fifteen feet, not so deep for free diving in short spurts, but they needed tanks to stay down for any length of time.
    Tante Lulu would probably have lunch prepared by the time everyone arrived. He’d helped tote a half dozen grocery bags of food in the little VW this morning.
    Jake was carrying Julie Ann back and forth across an open area, trying to soothe the fussy child, who was getting a cold and was not a happy camper. Who knew a body that small had lungs the size of a Goodyear blimp? There probably wasn’t a gator or egret left within a mile of the kid’s last bellow.
    Ronnie was coming out of the house, heading this way, but she’d stopped to talk to . . . He squinted, then groaned. “No, no, no, no!”
    “What’s the matter?” Famosa asked, coming up beside him.
    John pointed. “Trouble. Celine Arseneaux.” Quickly, he reached for his athletic bag and pulled out the wig, jamming it on his head. Maybe she wouldn’t recognize him from there.
    Celine was wearing white running shorts, a purple Mardi Gras T-shirt, sneakers with no socks, and a Saints baseball cap with her ponytail sticking out of the back. Nothing seductive. Certainly a far cry from her tart outfit. A laptop case was slung over one shoulder, and a camera case and a canvas carryall over the other.
    “Is she married?”
    John flashed Famosa a disgusted look. “You’ve got a one-track mind.”
    “Like you don’t.”
    “Not where Celine Arseneaux is concerned. She’s a newspaper reporter.”
    “Uh-oh.” The two of them watched Ronnie and Celine; they appeared to be arguing. Jake, with Julie Ann thankfully asleep on his shoulder, finally, headed toward Ronnie’s side, sensing trouble.
    “So, is she married?” Famosa persisted.
    “No. But she’s not for you.”
    “You want her for yourself, don’t you?”
    “Hardly. You’re welcome to her. Not here on this project, though. You can call her later.”
In fact, I dare you, bozo. Go ahead. Pull one of your loser moves. I can’t wait to see Celine kick you in the nuts.
    “Why?”
    “Why what?”
    “Why are you being so generous?”
    “She’s too hot for me.”
Ha, ha, ha.
    Famosa was eyeing him suspiciously. “What’s wrong with her?”
    “Nothing. Honest. She was the reporter who was at the Playpen the night we did the raid. Man, you should have seen her in a push-up bra, stiletto heels, and screw-me red lipstick. I don’t know this for certain, but I think she was wearing a thong.”
If he repeats this to Celine, I am dead meat.
    Famosa was practically salivating now as he gazed at Celine, picturing her in the killer bra and thong, no doubt.
    Time to stick it to Famosa. “She’s kinda shy, Celine is. Likes guys that come on strong.”
    Famosa nodded, using the fingers of both hands to comb his hair off his face and tidy the long swath he had clubbed at the neck with a rubber band. A Cuban Fabio.
    John mentally