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Shelby turned to Remy. “Ready?”
Remy hefted his rifle in one hand and took Shelby’s hand with his free one. “I should be asking you that question. I’m not the one who got knocked in the head, nearly drowned, and then almost suffocated.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted.
“Well, I’m not,” he said. “But let’s get going.”
And hope we don’t run into an army of cartel hitmen along the way.
Chapter 7
“Oh, Shelby, honey!” Chrissy cried. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I was so worried.”
Shelby held Remy’s cell phone away from her ear as her sister gushed her relief. When she quieted, Shelby settled the phone against her ear. “I’m already back in Bayou Mambaloa,” she said.
“Why didn’t you call me before you left the hospital? I would’ve met you at your house with a pot of chicken gumbo.”
Shelby smiled. Her sister’s cure-all for anything that ailed you was a pot of chicken gumbo. Not plain old chicken soup. No, it had to be gumbo. “I got a bump on my head, not the flu,” Shelby protested. “Besides, I’m not at my place yet. I won’t be there for an hour or more.”
“I would’ve thought you’d go home and straight to bed,” Chrissy’s mind-your-mother voice came through the receiver into Shelby’s ear. “Surely, the doctor told you to take it easy.”
“He did tell me I couldn’t go back to work until he cleared me. I have a follow-up visit with him in two weeks.”
“Well, at least you won’t have to go back to work yet. I wish you didn’t work for the sheriff’s department. None of this would’ve happened if you’d chosen another career field.”
Shelby sighed. Chrissy had never wanted Shelby to go into law enforcement. She’d hoped that when Shelby went off to college, she’d pursue a career in nursing or accounting.
Shelby had gotten her degree in forensics, much to Chrissy’s disappointment. Then she’d gone to work in Memphis, one of the most dangerous cities in the South and nowhere close to home.
Shelby might have stayed in Memphis if things had worked out differently. After paying her dues as a street cop, she’d been passed over twice for promotion to detective. The positions had gone to guys with less experience on the force and less formal education.
What they’d had were testicles and connections in the good-old-boy system. When the guy she’d been dating at the time got one of those positions, when he’d sworn he hadn’t applied and wasn’t interested, Shelby had had enough. She’d turned in her two weeks’ notice and headed back to Bayou Mambaloa.
At least working for the sheriff’s department, she had to be a jack of all trades. She’d have her shot at investigation and picking through clues. Bayou Mambaloa was too small to be able to afford its own police force. The parish sheriff’s department had to handle all law enforcement issues.
“Is Remy still with you?” Chrissy asked.
Shelby shot a glance toward Remy as he negotiated the boat rental with Mitch Marceau, the owner of the marina. “Yes, I’m still with Remy.”
“You weren’t mad at me for calling him?” Chrissy asked.
Shelby frowned. “Mad? Why would I be mad?”
“I don’t know. You got all moody after he left town following his last visit. I thought maybe something happened between the two of you.”
“I’m having memory issues from the bump on my head,” Shelby admitted. “Did something happen between me and Remy?”
“You don’t remember?” Chrissy asked.
“No.” Shelby stared at the man being discussed. “When was he last in town?”
“He didn’t mention it?”
Chrissy answering questions with questions was beginning to annoy Shelby. “No, he didn’t mention that he was in town recently. He only said he hadn’t lived in Bayou Mambaloa for twenty years.”
“He served in the Navy all those years as a Navy SEAL. I’m surprised you don’t remember that,” Chrissy said. “You must have hit your head pretty hard. You cried when he left, even though he’d been my boyfriend.”
“I never cry,” Shelby muttered.
