“I’m sure it’s no one to worry about,” Vince said. “Remember, I’m expecting friends. But just in case, why don’t you go out the back and stay low.”
Car doors slammed shut and Vince grabbed me by the arm and pulled me toward the door. “Watch out for the flotants,” Vince said, and shoved me out the back door, closing it in my face.
I didn’t know what a flotant was, and if I’d had cell service I would’ve looked it up, but I figured whatever it was, I’d at least be able to see it coming for me. There was a pirogue tied to the dock and it swayed gently in the marshy green water. Gnats and other bugs hovered over the water, and other things I didn’t want to think about made creaking noises off into the mossy trees.
The bayou was a cacophony of smells—hot mud, dirty dishwater, and fish, for the most part. I was going to have to add the bayou to the growing list of things that made me vomit, along with pancake batter, air freshener, and concrete after it rains.
The temperature was a lot colder on the water, and I shivered in my leather jacket, wishing I’d gone for practicality instead of style. But there was no use crying over spilled milk, and I looked really good while I shivered uncontrollably.
I wasn’t sure who’d driven up, but I hoped Vince knew what he was doing.
I decided standing on a swaying dock wasn’t in my best interest, and I couldn’t see or hear anything from my current position. I was one of those people who had constant FOMO—fear of missing out—and I needed to see what was happening in the worst way.
My choices were limited. I tried to recall the layout of the fishing cabin. It was basically one main room that served as a bedroom and living room, a small kitchen that was no more than a sink, a microwave, and a minifridge, and a closed door I could only assume was the bathroom.
My best chance of curing my FOMO was to make my way over to the kitchen side where there were two small windows.
I leaned as far as I could without toppling into the water to see what the lay of the land looked like. There were stilts spaced evenly apart on the entire left side of the cabin, and I remembered my dad had planned to build an extra room so Phoebe and I could come with him some weekends. But since we hated bugs and fishing and gross stuff in general, that hadn’t panned out the way he’d wanted.
The stilts stuck up about two feet out of the water, and if I could manage to stand on one I’d be able to look into the window.
I was feeling pretty optimistic about my chances of success. The mucky water was almost to the front of the house, but there seemed to be solid ground just on the other side of the kitchen window and up to where the river was under the bridge.
I debated whether or not to untie the pirogue and row myself to my destination, but I was afraid it’d make too much noise if I accidentally hit one of the stilts. I wasn’t exactly Sir Francis Drake when it came to boats. My only other option was to jump from stilt to stilt until I reached the window. I also wasn’t a circus performer, but it seemed the easier of the two options.
I heard footsteps on the porch and knew my time was limited to get into place without being seen or heard, so I took a deep breath and channeled my inner ninja warrior. The stilts were a good size, big enough I could fit both feet on them, but there wasn’t extra room for forgiveness if I missed my target.
I wiped sweaty palms on my jeans, said a little prayer, and then stepped onto the first stilt, which just happened to be directly beside the dock. It was solid beneath my feet, and I let out a whoosh of surprise. I didn’t give myself time to think or I would’ve chickened out. I jumped to the next one. And then the next. Until finally I stood on the one just outside the kitchen window.
I had to admit it felt good to know I still had it and that marriage and pregnancy hadn’t totally stolen my mojo.
If I stood on my tiptoes I could barely see into the kitchen window. I gasped in surprise as I saw Vince staring back at me, his lips thin and his eyes narrowed. I was used to this look from men, so I gave him a thumbs-up, and he blew out a breath and went to answer the knock at the door.
Vince stood with his back to me and his weapon drawn and down at his side while he cracked the door an inch to see who was there. He opened it wider and let two men inside.
They were older, probably in their early sixties, and I could tell by looking at them they were cops. Or at least they used to be. Cops all looked the same—not in physical appearance, but there was something in the eyes that was a dead giveaway. My father had the same look.
I didn’t recognize either of the men, but Vince shifted where he stood so when they faced him they didn’t have a clear shot of the kitchen window. Vince put his weapon back in the holster.
“Jimmy,” Vince said, shaking the man’s hand.
Jimmy was tall and lean, and he seemed to be in good shape even though he looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties. His hair was thick and silver, and his face clean shaven, showing a little dimple at the chin.
“Bruce,” Vince said, reaching out to the other man. Bruce was considerably shorter than Jimmy, maybe a couple of inches taller
