Hot Bayou Nights - Chapter #1 - Free To Read

Carla Saunders gripped the steering wheel tight as she shot a glance out the window to check her surroundings. Trees, bayou, and empty road. No signs, no buildings, not even another vehicle. The screen on her rental car’s GPS still read No Matches Found. Her heartbeat shifted up a few gears as her nerves began humming like a live wire. She let out a shaky sigh and finally accepted the truth. She was lost. Damn it. Not a good way to begin her assignment.

A bead of sweat trickled down the side her face; hair stuck to her forehead like wet confetti. Inside the car was hotter than dog’s breath. She’d purposely kept the A/C off and the windows down, wanting a full sensory experience of her first trip to the Louisiana bayou—sights, sounds, smells, everything. But with the temperature north of a hundred degrees and thick, humid air streaming into her car, she felt like she was sitting in a pot of warm stew. She needed cool air, and she needed it now. She brushed sweat from her eyes and flicked on the A/C switch.

Nothing.

She frowned; flicked it off and on again. Still dead. What the hell? A rare trace of unease slithered down her spine as she mentally ticked off the latest events. No signal on her GPS. Air conditioner busted. Not another car in sight. No clue of her location. She was made of sturdy stuff, but this was starting to creep her out. Could it all be some weird part of the assignment? She grabbed a handful of chips from the open bag on the passenger’s seat, stuffing them in her mouth. Think, Carla. Think.

She whipped her head around, looking for a sign or marker, anything to indicate her whereabouts, but came up empty. Green bayou and giant cypress trees as far as the eye could see. She had to have missed the turn. Yeah, definitely. All she had to do was get this car going the other way and then—

Shit, monster!

She drove her foot to the floor and slammed on the brakes. Her car fishtailed, back-end flailing as the tires screeched across the road. Sprays of gravel pelted the doors. She grabbed the steering wheel hard, fighting for control. The car careened toward an enormous cypress and she screamed, certain of a head-on collision with the tree. But suddenly her front tires hit the soft dirt by the roadside and her seatbelt snapped tight. The car lurched to a stop.

She rested her head against the steering wheel, gulping air. Her whole body trembled. She sent a prayer of thanks upstairs before turning to look out the back window at what had so scared her. In an instant, every hair on her arm rocketed straight up and she shrieked. Perched by the side of the road, like a horror movie prop, a giant alligator stared her down.

Revulsion and fear stopped her heart. She looked away, steeling herself, before looking back again. The alligator hadn’t moved. At least it wasn’t walking forward to sniff out her car, wondering if lunch had arrived.

Carla, what in the hell are you doing here? You’re a city girl. Honking horns and rude people she could deal with. Alligators and swampy bayous? Not so much. But as she thought back to her boss’s final instructions before she’d left for this assignment, she knew she’d have to deal with alligators and more. Or else.

You know what’s on the line here, Carla. We expect nothing less than total success. You do this right and get this client signed on with us, Paris and the V.P. title await. If not…well…

He hadn’t needed to finish the sentence, and they both knew it. Her ass was on the line if she didn’t pull this off. No promotion, no Paris assignment. No job. Period.

She sighed and checked on the alligator. Still in the same spot. Refocusing her attention back on the road, she decided there was no way she’d passed the exit. She’d been paying attention and it had to be up ahead. She grabbed her soda from the cup holder, took a long, cooling swig, and stepped on the gas.

At last, after twenty more minutes, a small hand written sign stuck in the ground indicated the exit for Rivard Research. Her shoulders sagged with relief. Finally.

The turn-off was more a stretch of dirt than an actual road. Every bump and ditch bounced her around in her seat, and she started to regret stuffing herself full of chips. They were settling in her stomach like a bucket of pig slop.

Her surroundings became darker and more wooded as an enormous canopy of live oaks, dripping with silvery Spanish moss, transformed into a roof above her head. Pea green bayou bordered the left-hand side of the road, and the dense, earthy smell of vegetation hung thick in the air.

She slowed her speed to little more than twenty miles an hour and noticed several small outbuildings as she drove past. Probably part of the research facility. At last she saw another sign directing her to turn right, and spotted what appeared to be the main building at the end of a long driveway. With no obvious area to park, she stopped where her car seemed the least intrusive and shut off the ignition. Home sweet home.

A number of people, mostly men, were walking around the area, not the least bit concerned about a visitor in their midst. Maybe they’d been told to expect her. Carla emerged from the car stiff, sweaty, and coated with a light dusting of potato chip crumbs. She brushed the crumbs from her skirt, instantly aware that her corporate suit and heels wouldn’t be seeing the light of day again until she was safely away from this swampy setting. A glance at her watch showed it was just before five. Right on time. Whew. Her fist clenched in a quick, victorious pump.

She waited beside her car, assuming whoever the research facility had assigned to meet her would be coming along any minute. But as several people went by without a word to her, she began to wonder if she’d misread the sign. Or that the main research building was located somewhere else on the grounds.

She’d just considered getting back into her car and driving farther along the road when she caught sight of a man approaching her, the slim but strong type who’d probably been a champion swimmer or runner in high school. His six-foot two height gave him a long, loping gait that reminded Carla of a wolf on the hunt. As he neared she could see his disheveled hair was dark brown and on the long side, locks of it brushing across his forehead that he swept back with a gesture both impatient and automatic.

In the same movement he used a finger to push up round, frameless glasses that had slipped down his nose. Behind the glasses were blue, piercing eyes that took in her wind-blown hair, travel-wrinkled suit, and heels sinking into inch-high mud with a single, somewhat disapproving glance.

Carla straightened when she noticed his look and gave him a hard stare right back. So she was a little rumpled, so what? She’d traveled over eight hours to get here and ought to be cut some slack. Maybe she wasn’t at her corporate best when it came to appearances, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t cut out for this assignment. Whatever it was.

“Excuse me, could you tell me where I can find Mr. Jackson’s office? I’m supposed to be meeting him today.” She punctuated her question with a high wattage corporate smile and assumed the man would flash one right back.

Instead he looked at her as if she’d spoken ancient Sanskrit, at first giving her nothing more than a grunt and a frown. Then he said, “You must be the new intern.”

“That’s right.”

He grunted again and started walking away, apparently assuming she’d follow him. “Thought you’d be here an hour ago.”

“I—” She took a couple of running steps to catch up with him. “I had difficulty finding the place.”

Apprehension jerked her nerves tight. Was she starting off on the wrong foot? She knew she was on time, so what’s with the attitude?

“Wait just a minute.”

He stopped walking and swung his glance back over his shoulder, cool eyes assessing her once more. “Could you let me know where we’re going? I’m supposed to be at Mr. Jackson’s office by five and I don’t want to be late.” Despite her anger it did occur to her, as she stared right back at him, that he was actually somewhat good looking. In fact, very good looking, despite his lack of manners. He possessed an alarming sensuality, all the more potent because he wasn’t even trying. It was just his natural aura, like the way he walked, or spoke, or filled out those jeans she’d been trotting behind. Nice.

She wondered if she’d be working with him on this assignment, and a curl of desire clenched in her belly. Shit, Carla. Calm down. But damn, he was easy on the eyes, to put it mildly. Downright hot, in fact. Still, she couldn’t let her focus stray. Not now. She’d only be reminded it had been a really long time since she’d last had sex, and with that grim thought came a whole host of other things to ponder. Like relationships, or men in general, or—

She blinked to clear her head and returned to the matter at hand. “I’ll ask you again,” she said, her voice remaining firm, “to tell me where we’re going.”

“You said you needed to get to Jackson’s office.”

“Yes.”

“Well.” He turned away and resumed walking, expelling an audible sigh. “That’s where we’re going.” With a couple of quick strides, she caught up.

“Thank you.”

He gave her another grunt that she interpreted as “you’re welcome” as they wove through a path littered with rocks, leaves, and sticks. Eventually the path gave way to a clearing, and in the distance Carla spotted some sort of rustic yet curiously cozy house. The place was good-sized considering its location in the middle of deep bayou country. The wooden clapboard siding was gray and faded, and a small porch lined with vertical columns jutted out front. Old wooden stairs led up to the door, looking like they wouldn’t object to a new coat of paint.

Without hesitation Mr. Grunter, as she’d secretly deemed him, climbed the stairs and opened the front door. As she entered, her gaze fell on a plaque mounted to the wall just inside. Welcome to The Snake Pit!

The hairs on the back of her neck shot up and she nearly tripped over her own feet. Snake pit?! Where exactly was he taking her? She let loose a slow, steadying breath and followed him to the end of a long hallway near a staircase. A door leading to an office stood open.

Grunter stopped just shy of entering and actually held out an arm, indicating Carla should step inside first. She would have noted that small miracle of manners were she not so intent upon making a good first impression on Mr. Jackson who, she presumed, awaited inside. But when she entered the room, it was empty.

Grunter walked in behind her and rounded a modest desk. “Have a seat,” he said, nodding toward a chair in front of the desk.

Carla stepped over to it but stopped short of sitting. “Will Mr. Jackson be joining us soon?”

“There’s no Mr. Jackson.” Grunter took a seat behind the desk as he repeated his instructions for her to do the same, this time with a clear touch of impatience in his voice. Carla sat, confusion wrinkling her face.

“I don’t understand.” She pulled the assignment sheet from her purse and glanced over it once more. “My instructions clearly state I’m to meet Mr. Jackson upon my arrival. But you’re telling me he’s not here?” She sat back in her chair, considering. “This is Rivard Research, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, then what—”

“I’m Jackson.”

“You’re…” She stole a glance at her paper and then looked back at him. “…Mr. Jackson?”