Bayou Trackdown

Do you know a gent by the name of Namo?”

“Oui. Namo Heuse,” Liana answered while drawing a brocaded curtain over a window. “A good man. He lives deep in the swamp. Deeper in than anyone. He has a son named Clovis and a daughter named Halette.” She looked over her shoulder, sorrow marking her features. “It is terrible, really.”

“What?”

“Namo had a charming wife. I liked her a lot. Emmeline, she was called. A most capable woman. She knew the swamp and the bayous as good as anyone, and she was a good shot, but neither saved her.”

“How do you mean?”

“She is one of those who have gone missing. About two months ago, now, I think it was. She left the settlement with her daughter but never made it home. Everyone joined in the search but she was never found.” Liana paused. “We found Halette, though.”

“Did she say what happened to her mother?”

“She told us nothing, monsieur. She was found clinging to branches high in a tree and would not say a word to her rescuers. Nor has she said a word since. The doctor says it is the shock. A pitiable sight to see her sitting in a chair, not moving, not even blinking.” Liana shuddered. “She must have seen the monster. She must have seen what it did to her mother.”

“How do you know a gator didn’t get her?”

“Not Emmeline. She was too careful, that one. Besides, I haven’t told you about the blood. At the base of the tree where they found the girl was so much blood, it sickened me to look at it.”

“There must have been tracks.”

“Oh, we are sure there were. But someone erased them.”

“What?”

Liana was moving toward the other window. “Someone took an axe or a pick to the ground. It was chopped up, with clods of dirt everywhere. Any tracks were destroyed.”

Fargo leaped to a logical conclusion. “Maybe it’s a man and he was hiding the fact.”

In the act of reaching for the cord, Liana shook her head. “Would the girl be in shock if it were a man? Would she be rendered mute?”

“You said there was a lot of blood.”

“And you forget. Emmeline was not the first. There have been many. If a man was responsible, he would have given himself away.”

Fargo wasn’t so sure. “What about this Remy?”

“He has killed, yes. But as I told you, only outsiders. And only in fair fights. He doesn’t murder women and children.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Trust me on this. Remy did not kill Emmeline or any of the others. You should talk to Namo. After she vanished, he refused to eat or sleep but spent every day out in his pirogue, searching.”

A pirogue, as Fargo knew, was a Cajun canoe with a flat-bottomed hull, ideal for swamp use.

“Namo says he got a glimpse of the monster. It was late and he was heading home when he saw it, far off. In the dark he could not see it well, but he swears it was the size of a covered wagon.”

To say Fargo was skeptical was putting it mildly. “Nothing is that big. Not even a grizzly or a buffalo.”

“Namo swears to it and I believe him. You must realize. We came from Acadia and made this swamp our home. We have lived here many years now, and we know the swamp well. There are things we have seen that no one else has. Things you would not believe were I to tell you.”

“Ghost and goblins,” Fargo could not resist saying with a grin.

“Call them what you will. But there are more things on this earth than many of us ever dream.”

Fargo would rather not insult her but it would be a cold day in hell before he let himself become that gullible.

Liana took a candle from behind the bar and lit the wick in the flame of the last lit lamp, then blew out the lamp. Holding the candle on high, she came over and took his hand. “Thank you for being so patient. I will try to make the wait worth your while.”

“I can hardly wait.”

“Might I ask why you wanted to know about Namo Heuse?”

“He’s the one who sent for me. But he didn’t write why.”

“Surely you can guess. He must want your help in finding the creature that killed poor Emmeline.” Liana glanced at him. “Who knows? Maybe you will discover that monsters and goblins are more real than you think.”

4

The bedroom was every bit as comfortable as she claimed.

The bed was twice the size of most and layered in thick quilts and blankets. Embroidered pillows were propped against a mahogany headboard. Overhead was a flowered canopy with pink fringe. A plush rug covered the floor, and a dresser and a table and chair were in opposite corners.

Liana patted the top quilt. “This is my escape from the world. On Sundays I don’t get up until past noon.”

“Too bad tomorrow isn’t Sunday,” Fargo said.

“Few men ever see this room. Usually I indulge my dalliances elsewhere. You should be flattered.”

Fargo moved up behind her and put his arm around her waist. “You said something about needing to relax.”

Twisting her head, Liana smiled seductively. “What do you have in mind? You and your naughty thoughts.”

“This,” Fargo said, grinding his member against her buttocks. Right away he grew hard again. Cupping a breast, he kissed her. Liana melted into him. For the longest while their mouths and their tongues were entwined.

It was Liana who broke for breath. “Mmmm. You are a wonderful kisser. Magnifique.”

“You’re not bad yourself.” Fargo turned her so she was facing him. He kissed her neck, her throat, her ear. He sucked on the lobe and she shivered. He rimmed the ear with the tip of his tongue and she uttered a low groan.

“I am sensitive there.”

Fargo took her hand and placed it on his manhood. “I’m sensitive here.”

“I take the hint.” Liana commenced rubbing and cupping.

Fargo could always tell women who made love a lot from women who were new to lovemaking by how they fondled him. The new ones treated his pole as if they were trying to break it in half. They were much too rough. Experienced women used a lighter touch.

Liana was experienced.

He plied her thighs and continued to tweak her breasts, switching from one to the other, feeling her nipples harden until they were like tacks. Soon she was panting, her hot breath fanning his throat as she lavished burning kisses on him.

“Clothes are nice but naked is better,” Fargo said, and set to work undressing her. Fortunately she wasn’t one of those females who believed in layer after layer of undergarments. No petticoats or corsets for this Cajun lady.

As Fargo shed her clothes, Liana shed his. She got his belt undone and his holster slid down his leg and thudded to the floor. His hat she tossed to the foot of the bed. Then she peeled off his shirt. “Mon Dieu!” she exclaimed at the sight of his whipcord torso. “So many muscles.” She ran her fingers across his stomach and up over his chest. “I could eat you alive.”

“Be my guest.”

Fargo got her undressed and looked down, admiring her contours. She was exquisite. Her breasts were firm