Wild Man's Curse (Wilds of the Bayou #1) by Susannah Sandlin Read Free Book Online

their common ground, and he didn’t treat her like a rookie.
    Besides, her other potential partner had been Senior Agent Paul Billiot, a solemn-faced, quiet man from Isle de Jean Charles and an active member of the area’s tribe of Biloxi-Chitimacha-Choctaw Native Americans. Paul Billiot had a way of looking straight through her as if he could see her soul.
    “Have you heard how Mac Griffin’s doing as Paul Billiot’s partner?” She and Mac, a transplanted rookie agent from Maine, of all places, had started in Region 6 the same week.
    This time, Gentry’s dimples caught and stayed. “Let’s just say I’d love to be a fly on their boat one night. I think we need to start a pool to see which one breaks first.”
    Jena laughed. “That’s what I thought.” Mac was talkative and gregarious and fancied himself a ladies’ man ready to conquer the females of South Louisiana. A full one-eighty from her impression of Paul Billiot, in other words.
    “I wonder—” Whatever Gentry wondered was cut short by his sudden look down at his shirt pocket, from which he fished his phone. He turned off the engine so he could hear and glanced at the screen before answering. “It’s Lieutenant Doucet.”
    Gentry listened a few moments, looked at Jena’s upraised eyebrows, and shrugged. “We’re almost across Wonder Lake headed for Bayou Terrebonne and the boat launch.”
    Jena groaned inwardly. It had been a long, stressful night, and the lieutenant wouldn’t be calling if there wasn’t something he needed them to do before going off duty. Gentry put the phone on speaker.
    “Eva Savoie’s great-niece wants to talk to you,” the lieutenant was saying. “Mostly you, Broussard, since you found her aunt, but you were there too, Sinclair. So as a courtesy, I told the sheriff I’d have you drop by.”
    Well, at least they were headed back toward Houma anyhow. Jena had a small apartment in a generic complex on the outskirts of town, and Gentry had a house somewhere around Montegut. She wasn’t sure of the location; they might be partners but they didn’t socialize. As far as she knew, Gentry Broussard didn’t socialize with anyone, although Stella said he had some kind of big, macho dog.
    “No problem.” Gentry’s mouth spoke the words but his expression looked anything but agreeable. “What’s her name? Where’s she staying?”
    “Celestine Savoie.” Warren paused. “She goes by ‘Ceelie’ or something like that.”
    Gentry rolled his eyes. “Sounds high-maintenance.”
    Jena stifled a chuckle.
    “She’ll meet you down the bayou.” Like the other locals, including Gentry when he was in Cajun mode, Warren’s bayou came out sounding more like buy-ya .
    “At her aunt’s cabin?”
    Ugh. Jena put a hand over her mouth. God, that place had been a disaster when they left, blood from one end to the other, belongings in disarray. It was probably worse now that the investigators had gone through everything a few times. Had they warned the woman what she’d face when she showed up?
    “When do we need to be there?” Gentry’s deep, smooth voice cut through Jena’s thoughts.
    “Told ’em you’d be there by eight. And Broussard?” Warren paused. “I also told the sheriff you’d be polite no matter how big a pain this woman might be. She’s apparently got a temper, and you’ve apparently got a reputation for being a smart-ass.”
    Gentry grinned, a wicked slice of white teeth above his tanned jawline. Those dimples were deep enough to dive into, his expression that of a man who’d been issued a challenge. “I’m always polite, Lieutenant.”
    “No, you aren’t.” Warren said. “So play nice.”
    “He’s got your number—hey!” The rest of Jena’s comment was cut short as Gentry took a curve too fast and she had to grab hold of the seat. She should ticket the jerk—he’d done that on purpose. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d taken her by surprise and dumped her on the floor of the boat.
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