A Thin Dark Line

and rested her forearms on the damp wood. 'No one in the department wants to rush to my aid these days. I'm not saying they're all against me, but I'd get apathy at best. Besides, I don't have a tag number on the car. I'm not sure about the make. I can't describe the driver.

'I'll file a report in the morning and call around to the body shops myself, see if I can find a big car with half my paint job on the side. I could probably get better odds on the Saints winning the Super Bowl.'

'I'll check out Mullen's alibi,' Nick offered. 'It's time I had a little chat with him, anyhow.'

'Thanks.'

'I saw Stokes tonight. He says the Faulkner woman is stable but still unconscious.'

Annie nodded. 'She saw him over lunch yesterday. Did he say anything about that?'

'No.'

'Did he say anything about me?'

'That you're a pain in the ass. Same old, same old. Do you think she might have said something to him about you digging around?'

'I don't see why she wouldn't have. When I saw her Sunday, she told me she'd sooner deal with Stokes. She wasn't happy about me saving Renard's hide. So she sees Stokes over lunch, presumably to tell him something about Pam. Then she calls me that night: apologetic, wants to get together.'

'Why the change of heart?'

'I don't know. Maybe Stokes didn't think what she had to say was important. But if she did mention me, why didn't he call me on it?' she asked. 'I don't get that. This afternoon he told me to stay away from his cases, but why wouldn't he go to the sheriff? He knows I'm already in trouble. He might have a chance of getting me suspended. Why wouldn't he go for it?'

'But if he tells Noblier, that opens a can of worms for him too, sugar,' Nick said. 'If it looks like he's not working the case hard enough, maybe Gus takes it away from him- especially now that Stokes has the rape task force. He doesn't want to give up the Bichon homicide any more than I did.'

'Yeah… I guess that makes sense.' She tried to shrug off her uneasiness. 'Maybe Lindsay didn't say anything. I guess I won't know 'til she comes around. If she comes around. I hope she comes around. I wish I knew what she wanted to tell me.'

The sounds of the night settled around them-wind in the trees, a splash in the water, the staccato quock of a black-crowned night heron out on one of the willow islands. The air was ripe with the smell of green growth and fish and mud.

Odd, Annie thought as she watched Fourcade watch the night, these brief stretches of calm quiet that sometimes lay between them, as if they were old partners, old friends. Other moments the air around them crackled with electricity, sexuality, temper, suspicion. Volatile, unstable, like the atmosphere in a newly forming world. The description fit both Fourcade and whatever was growing between them.

'This is where you grew up,' he said.

'Yeah. Once, when I was eight, I tied a rope to that corner post and tried to rappel down to the ground. I kicked in a screen down below and landed smack in the middle of a table of tourists from France.'

He chuckled. 'Destined for trouble from an early age.'

His words brought an unexpected image of her mother, coming here alone and pregnant, never revealing to anyone the father of her child. She had been trouble from conception, apparently. Every once in a while she felt a pinch of guilt for that, even though she'd had no say in the matter. The pain bloomed quick and bright, like a drop of blood from the prick of a thorn.

Nick watched as melancholy came over her like a veil and wondered at its source, wondered if that source was the reason she preferred the surface to the depths of life. He felt a sadness at the sudden absence of her usual spark. Was it that surface light in her that attracted him or the reserves of strength she had yet to tap?

'Me, I grew up out that way,' he said, pointing off to the southeast. 'The middle of nowhere was the center of my world. At least until I was twelve.'

Annie was surprised that he had offered the information. She tried to picture him as a carefree swamp kid, but couldn't.

'How did you go from there to here?' she asked.

The expression in his eyes turned remote and reflective. His voice sounded road-weary. 'The long way.'

'I actually thought you might have died last night,' she admitted belatedly.

'Disappointed?'

'No.'

'Some folks would be. Marcotte, Renard, Smith Pritchett.' He thought back to the comment Stokes had made that afternoon. 'What about Mr. Doucet with the DA's office?'

'A.J.?' she said, looking puzzled. 'What's he got to do with you?'

'What's he got to do with you?' Nick asked. 'Rumor has it you're an item, you and Mr. Deputy DA.'

'Oh, that,' Annie said, cringing inwardly. 'He'd blow a gasket if he knew you were here.'

'Because of what I did to Renard? Or because of what I did with you?'

'Both.'

'And on the second count: Does he have cause?'

'He would say yes.'

'I'm asking you,' Nick said, holding his breath as he waited for her answer.

'No,' she said softly. 'I'm not sleeping with him, if that's what you're asking.'

'That's what I'm asking, 'Toinette,' he said. 'Me, I don't like to share.'

'That's not to say I think this is such a great idea, Nick,' Annie admitted. 'I'm not saying I regret tonight. I don't. I should.' She sighed and tried again. 'It's just that… Look at the situation we're in. It's complicated enough, and-and- I don't just do this kind of thing, you know-'

'I know.' He stepped closer, settling his hands on her hips, wanting to touch her, to lay claim in a basic way. 'Neither do I.'

'I sure as hell shouldn't be doing it with you. I-'

He pressed a forefinger to her lips, silencing her. 'This isn't about the case. This has nothing to do with what happened with Renard. Understand?'

'But-'

'It's about attraction, need, desire. You felt it that night at Laveau's. So did I. Before any of the rest of this ever started. It's a separate issue. It has to make its own sense outside the context of the situation we're in. You can accept it or you can say no. What do you want, 'Toinette?'

Annie moved away from him. 'It must be nice to be so sure of everything,' she said. 'Who's guilty. Who's innocent. What you want. What I know. Aren't you ever confused, Nick? Aren't you ever uncertain? I am. You were right-I'm in over my head, and if one more thing weighs me down, I'll never come up for air.'

She looked for a reaction but his face was as impassive as granite.

'You want me to go?' he asked.

'I think what I want and what's best are two different things.'

'You want me to go.'

'No,' she said in exasperation. 'That's not what I want.'

He came toward her then, serious, purposeful, predatory. 'Then we'll deal with the rest later because I'm telling you, chere, I know what I want.'

Then he kissed her, and Annie let his certainty sweep them both away. He carried her back inside, back to bed, leaving the balcony an empty stage with an audience of one shrouded in shadows of midnight.

'I saw her with him. Touching him. Kissing him. THE WHORE.

She has no loyalty. Just like before. It made me wish I had killed her. Love.

Passion.

Greed.

Anger.

Hatred.

Around and around the feelings spin, a red blur. You know, sometimes I can't tell one from the other. I have no power over them. They have all power over me. I wait for their verdict.