Free Dead on the Delta by Stacey Jay Page B

kill me. I’ll have to move, and I can’timagine that. Donaldsonville is the only home I have left, the only place that’s somewhere I want to be.
    “Hello. Annabelle? I’m Stephanie Thomas.” The voice is tight and perky, but with a husky undertone, hinting at a sensuality her conservative black suit and casually upswept brown hair are doing their best to conceal.
    Still, it’s obvious this woman is pretty. Very pretty. And standing very close to Hitch, who is also working the business look. I scan him up and down, taking in the dark blue summer suit with the light blue shirt underneath, pulled together with a conservative white-and-blue-striped tie. His wavy brown hair is so short it barely teases his ears and he’s evidently tried to tame it with some sort of “product.” There’s a crisp, damp look to the curls despite the fact that they’re dry, and not a hint of the usual scruff on his chin.
    He looks so amazingly tidy, professional.
    I’ve never seen Hitch in anything but scrubs or cut-up jeans and T-shirts so threadbare you could see his skin through the fabric. Occasionally he’d whip out an ancient flannel or sweater he saved from high school, for warmth during the brief Louisiana winter, but I hadn’t realized he could look so damned fancy. Even when we’d gone out, we’d gone in jeans and T-shirts. My mind doesn’t know what to do with the dressed-up, business-ified Hitch standing next to this dressed-up, business-ified woman.
    What the hell is he doing here? Why does thischick know my name? How long will I sit here staring at her outstretched hand before I shake it?
    Hmm … I don’t know. How long? It’s already been too long. Way too long. Probably best to avoid it altogether. I’m not much of a mind to touch “Stephanie,” anyway. I rather hate “Stephanie” at first sight.
    “Yeah, I’m Annabelle.” I glance at her hand and then at mine and shrug. “Sorry. Wing sauce.” I waggle my fingers in the air and smile, watching irritation flicker behind her soft brown eyes with the green flecks. My smile widens. It pleases me to annoy Stephanie, gives me something to work at besides pretending that seeing Hitch doesn’t make me want to puke for the second time today.
    Speaking of Hitch, I have to acknowledge him sometime. With words instead of gaping.
    I turn, keeping my grin in place, but the second our eyes connect I flinch. Even that still feels so intimate. “Hey, Hitch. How are you?”
    “Not so good,” he says with an answering grin. “Someone was supposed to meet us at the shuttle station, but apparently everyone in Donaldsonville is too busy for the FBI.”
    “The FBI?” I parrot, my mind refusing to believe what my gut has already realized. “You’re kidding.” Surely he’s … surely that wouldn’t … and he couldn’t … and … and … and—
    “I’m Special Agent Stephanie Thomas, fairy investigation division.” Stephanie flashes her badge with more aggression than necessary, punishing me formy refusal to touch her evil FBI flesh. “And you know Special Agent Dr. Herbert Rideau, fairy forensics.”
    “Herbert?” Fern—who up to this point has remained mercifully silent—can’t resist commentary. “Did you punch your mama on the way out?”
    “It’s a family name, Herbert Mitchell. My friends call me Hitch,” he says, his unsinkable grin still in place. The man could smile while fishing maggots out of the garbage. Nothing dents his damned cheeriness. Almost nothing, anyway. “But y’all can call me Dr. Rideau while I’m in town.”
    Oh, no. He didn’t. He didn’t just said “
y’all.
” If he expects me to call him “Dr. Rideau,” he can take his fancy new badge and shove it up his—
    “Right. Absolutely, doctor, Ms. Thomas. Glad to have y’all in town.” Fernando nods respectfully, picking up on the angry vibe beneath Hitch’s superficial pleasantry. He’s off his stool a second later. “Well, Miss Lee, I think I should head back to