Free Possession by Tori Carrington Page B

out.
    He watched as the three teams of officers began to disperse, two of them with the airboats, the other backtracking toward the road. He suspected they might leave someone behind. He was mildly surprised when it was Akela.
     
    A KELA UNFASTENED the pulls on her flak jacket, then let the heavy protective vest hang from her shoulders, her T-shirt underneath damp. The last of her support team had left about fifteen minutes ago, leaving her behind on her request. Sitting on the porch’s wood steps, she scanned the surrounding area, hoping Lafitte had watched them go, hoping even more that he’d noticed she had stayed.
    She didn’t miss the irony of her actions. She’d come out here with every intention of bringing him into custody, where she felt he’d be safer. With her on the job, she wouldn’t have to worry about one of Chevalier’s rookies spooking and squeezing a shot at Claude.
    She should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. Should have suspected it would take more than a few clever maneuvers to arrest the ex-marine.
    She’d practically memorized his background check. Knew the details of his arrest at nineteen when he’d been found bleeding from a stab wound in the back—which explained the scar—and left for dead when a black-market sale of small arms had gone bad. He’d been the seller, and apparently the buyer had decided he didn’t want to pay for what Claude had stolen. It had been his first offense, during a time when the laws weren’t as unforgiving as they were now, so the judge had given him a choice: prison or a stint in the military.
    He’d chosen the military. Where he’d not only served, but served well. He’d worked his way up to a prime position in Elite Forces, going above and beyond in his duty as scout and sniper in both Kosovo and Somalia. The marines had tried to talk him into staying when his time was up, but he’d taken his honorable discharge, then gone into business with his older brother, buying scrapped watercraft, rebuilding the engines, then reselling them at triple the price. The business had grown over the years to include popular bayou airboat tours and now dealt in new as well as used and refurbished boats.
    It was that business that Claude was now in the process of buying from his brother, a deal that would undoubtedly fall through if Claude couldn’t clear his name. And the only way she felt he could do that was by turning himself over to authorities.
    She glanced at her watch then ran the back of her hand across her brow. It was even hotter today than it had been yesterday, if that was possible. The very air around her seemed to liquefy. The scent of green and decay filled her nose. And her heart beat so thickly she wasn’t all that convinced that she was physically sound. Obviously, her psychological soundness was already in question.
    She shrugged out of the jacket and dropped it with a dull thunk to the wood steps. There wasn’t anything she could do about the pants but roll them up a few times, but she left her boots on.
    “Waiting for someone?”
    The words came from the porch behind her. She stiffened a bit, but only because, despite everything, Lafitte had managed to get the jump on her.
    She released the bullet loaded into her automatic with a quick shift of the mechanism, then put the firearm back into the holster attached to her flak jacket.
    “You could say that,” she said.
    She heard footsteps and scooted over on the stairs so he could pass. Instead he took a seat next to her. Akela squinted at him, taking in the width of his biceps, the firmness of his thighs in his jeans.
    “Some might think that a little dangerous.”
    She glanced at where her firearm was well within reach for both of them. “Yes, they might.”
    “But you don’t.”
    “No, I don’t.”
    She felt his finger on the hair above her right ear. Then she felt his breath. “Maybe you should, chere .”

9
    S HE SMELLED LIKE ORANGES . Oranges, for God’s sake. Claude leaned