Bayou Trackdown Read online

  That left Babin. He had scrambled to one side and was in a crouch. “No more, monsieur.”

  Fargo’s dander was up. “Why should I spare you?”

  “We were wrong, monsieur. And two wrongs don’t make a right. Isn’t that what they say?”

  “There’s another saying I’m fond of,” Fargo said. “Maybe you’ve heard of it. An eye for an eye.” He took a bound and planted his boot in Babin’s face. Babin tried to dodge but he was too slow. Knocked flat onto his back, he held both palms out.

  “I will not fight you. Beat me if you want but for me this is over.”

  Fargo moved to Doucet. The rooster was out to the world, blood dribbling from his mouth. “When he comes around tell him something for me.”

  “Let me guess. Should he lift a finger against you again, he would be wise to have a coffin made first.”

  “I couldn’t have said it better.” Fargo looked at Babin. “Get it through your heads that I might be an outsider but I was sent for. I’m here to help.”

  “Help do what, exactly?”

  Fargo didn’t answer. Instead, he wheeled and went into the tavern. Apparently no one had heard the ruckus, or if they had, they chose to ignore it. Several men had claimed his table in his absence so he stalked to the bar, and when Liana came over he asked for a bottle.

  “Is something the matter?”

  “Doucet.”

  “Not again?”

  “Some idiots never learn.” Fargo upended the red-eye and chugged. “The good news is, he didn’t spoil my mood.”

  “Your mood?” Liana said quizzically, and smiled. “Oh. Thank goodness. Although I have heard that men are always in the mood.”

  Fargo stayed at the bar. The Cajuns wanted nothing to do with him and left him alone, which suited him fine. Most left long before closing time, heading home to their wives and children. He downed half the bottle by eleven and was the last man in the tavern.

  “At last I can close. It’s been a long day. I need to relax.”

  Fargo gave her another of his hungry looks. “I know just the way.”

  “I bet you do.” Liana stood in front of him, her breasts nearly brushing his chest. “I hope you are not all talk. I would be très disappointed.”

  Without any hint of what he was about to do, Fargo cupped her twin mounds and squeezed. Liana arched her back, her cherry lips forming a delectable O. A soft sigh issued from her throat. When she looked at him she had a hunger in her eyes to match his.

  “What is good for the goose is good for the gander, non?”

  She cupped him, low down.

  Now it was Fargo’s turn to go rigid with tingling pleasure. He felt her stroke him and his pole became iron. “And you said I was bold?”

  “You will find that most Cajun women are not shy about their needs,” Liana informed him. “When we see a man we like, we go after him.”

  “Do you have any sisters?”

  Liana laughed, and Fargo glued his mouth to hers. His tongue met hers in a velvet swirl as he kneaded her breasts with one hand while roving his other down over her flat belly to the junction of her thighs.

  Breaking the kiss, Liana stepped back. “Non.”

  For a moment Fargo thought she had been toying with him, that the whole thing was an act. “Why not?”

  Liana gestured at the windows. “Someone might look in. I have a room in the back. It is most comfortable, with a nice bed. Permit me to lock up and put out the lamps.”

  Fargo liked the idea of a bed over the floor or a tabletop. “Whatever you want.” He patted her bottom as she moved past. “I’m in no hurry. I have all night.” He only hoped the man he was supposed to meet showed up. The letter had been sent six weeks ago, and the man might have changed his mind or be dead for all he knew. “Tell me. 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 d
iscover 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 and full, her belly was smooth and flat, her bottom nicely rounded. Her curly thatch was silky soft to the touch. He drank her loveliness in, then got down to arousing her. First he eased her onto the bed and crawled on so he was next to her, his chest to her breasts. The quilts were so soft it was like sinking into fluff.

  Liana looped an arm about his neck and pulled his face down to hers. “Something tells me this will be a night I’ll long remember.”

  “I’ll try my best, ma’am.”

  If there was anything finer in life than a willing woman, Fargo had yet to come across it. His mouth and hands roved everywhere, exploring, arousing. She did the same. Both of them took their time, savoring the feel and the taste, her lust a mirror of his.

  Eventually Fargo spread her legs wide and aligned his redwood with her slit. He ran it up and down, sparking quivers from her head to her toes. Inserting the tip, he slowly fed himself in until his steel sword was up to the hilt in her wet sheath. For a space they lay motionless on the precipice.

  “I could do this forever,” Liana cooed. Her eyes were hooded, her red lips more inviting than ever.

  Fargo began stroking. He had experience, too, and he didn’t go at her hard and fast and end it too soon. He dipped into her slowly, rocking gently on his knees, his toes braced for leverage. Her nails dug into his arms so deep, he would swear that this time she drew blood.

  Finally Liana was ready. She put her mouth to his ear and whispered, “Now, amoureux. I am a flower and you are a scythe. Cut me.”

  Fargo had never heard it expressed quite that way before. But cut her he did, thrusting his scythe up into her flower harder and harder until the bed bounced and she cried out and arched her back and spurted.

  Fargo’s redwood exploded. Pinpoints of light danced before his eyes. He rocked in and out until he was spent and then sank on top of her, cushioned by her heaving bosom. But he lay there only a few moments. Rolling off to spare her his weight, he closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.

  A noise awakened him.

  How long he had been out, Fargo couldn’t say. Beside him Liana snored, and he assumed it was her snoring that roused him. Then his gaze fell on the mirror above the table and suddenly he was fully awake, his blood racing in alarm.

  The bedroom door was open. Midway between it and the bed stalked a figure with a knife in his hand.

  Doucet.

  Fury gripped Fargo. Sheer, red-hot fury. He’d spared the fool and this was how Doucet repaid him. As yet, Doucet hadn’t realized he was awake. Fargo remedied that. Abruptly rolling, he deliberately fell over the side of the bed. He landed next to his gun belt and molded the Colt to his palm. He thought Doucet would come around after him and he would blow the Cajun to kingdom come. But there was a gasp, and then nothing. He sat up.

  Doucet was on his knees on the bed, his blade to Liana’s throat. Grinning smugly, he said, “We meet again.”

  “For the last time.”

  “I agree.” Doucet’s eyes glittered. “You will drop your revolver or I will cut her.”

  Liana’s own eyes reflected mute appeal. She started to move but Doucet grabbed her hair and wrenched her head back, further exposing her throat.

  “Don’t move, ma chère. I do not want to harm you. But you have brought this on yourself by sleeping with this pig.”

  “Where are your friends?” Fargo asked.

  “Pitre and Babin refused to help. They said I should let it drop. That you had proven the better man.” Doucet swore. “They said that to me. As if the likes of you could ever be my better.”

  “Let her go. This is between you and me.”

  “No.”

  “Then all your talk about caring for her was a lie.” Fargo tensed his legs for his push off the floor.

  “To the contrary. But a man does what he must. Now you will drop that revolver as I have told you or she bleeds. Do you want her death on your conscience?”

  “I’d rather have your brains splattered all over a wall. But you win.” Fargo let the Colt fall.

  “Excellent. Now stand up.”

  “Whatever you want. Just don’t hurt her.” Fargo put both hands flat and began to rise. His right hand was only inches from the Colt. He didn’t glance down at it, though. That would give him away.

  “Most excellent,” Doucet gloated. Then he did something Fargo didn’t expect: he ducked behind Liana so that only part of his face was visible, a cheek and one eye. “Nice and slow, yes?”

  Fargo kept on rising but he didn’t snatch up the Colt as he intended. He needed to be sure. There must be no risk to Liana. His pants slid down around his ankles, bunching about his boots.

  “Hold your arms out from your sides,” Doucet commanded, “and back up until you are against the far wall.”

  Reluctantly, Fargo complied.

  Only then did Doucet slide off the bed and step away from Liana. He shoved her as he did, growling, “Stay on that bed, woman.” A few quick steps brought him to the Colt, which he picked up and cocked.

  “How dare you lay a hand on me!” Liana fumed, rising on her elbows. “I will tell everyone what you
have done.”

  “Go right ahead. You haven’t been harmed. As for this outsider—” and he gestured with the Colt at Fargo—“no one will care what I do to him.”

  “The person who sent for him will.”

  “So he claims. But he hasn’t said who it was, or why.” Doucet shook his head. “No one will care that another outsider became lost in the swamp and was never heard from again. Or that is the story we will tell if anyone should come looking for him.”

  Liana glanced worriedly at Fargo then softened her tone toward Doucet. “Please. I ask you nicely. Don’t harm him. We have been friendly, have we not? Spare him as a favor to me?”

  “True, we have been friends,” Doucet said. “Until the moment you slept with this pig. Now I no longer care if you live or die.”

  “Damn you.”

  Doucet laughed and addressed Fargo. “Women. Ce n’est pas la peine. N’est-ce pas?” When Fargo didn’t answer, he translated, “They are not worth the trouble. Isn’t that right?”

  “You are the pig here,” Liana said.

  “How soon they turn on us, eh?” Doucet went on addressing Fargo. “One day they hold our hand and go for a walk with us, and the next they glare at us and call us pigs.”

  “I want you out of my room, out of my tavern, out of my life.”

  “What you want, my dear, and what will happen, are two different things.” Doucet pointed the Colt at Fargo’s chest. “The question now is whether I kill you outright or have fun with you a while.”

  “No, Doucet, please,” Liana said.

  “Shut up. Another word out of you, just one, and I swear I will shoot him. Not to kill, mind you. I want him to suffer. I’ll shoot him in the knee, perhaps. Or in that tool of his he used on you.” Doucet glanced down. “Mon Dieu. That I should be so endowed.”

  Fargo had stayed silent long enough. To keep the Cajun’s tongue wagging he revealed, “The gent who sent for me is called Namo Heuse. Maybe you’ve heard of him.”

  Doucet’s brow puckered. “Namo? Oui. I know him well. But what would he want with an outsider?”