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Alligator Moon
Joanna Wayne
LYING IN THE SHADOWS OF THE MOONLIGHT…John Robicheaux lived the simple life in Cajun country–that was until his brother turned up dead in the bayou. He'd be damned before he'd let that crime go unpunished. And John's suspicions about the sudden death were pointing to a medical clinic and a powerful plastic surgeon who stood accused of "losing" a high-profile patient on the operating table.Local magazine reporter Cassie Havelin had been in Beau Pierre to look into the story. Except, when her investigation became entangled with her mother's disappearance, Cassie was thrown straight into the strong arms of John Robicheaux. Together they had to shadow a sinister killer slithering in the murky waters…unless they were consumed by the darkness first.
Praise for
JOANNA WAYNE
“Joanna Wayne masterfully weaves a story
of dark secrets and unforgettable evil.”
—USA TODAY bestselling author Karen Young
on Alligator Moon
“Lose yourself and your heart in the sultry
Cajun setting Joanna Wayne brings to life
in Alligator Moon.”
—reader favorite Judy Christenberry
“Wayne creates compelling relationships and
intricately plotted suspense that will keep readers
guessing in this page-turning, heart-pounding read.”
—Romantic Times on Harlequin Intrigue novel
Attempted Matrimony
Dear Reader,
Welcome to the sultry world of south Louisiana. As a lifelong Louisiana resident, I’ve always loved the romance and mystery associated with the bayou country and have been fascinated with the lore of the Cajun people. That’s why when I got the idea for Alligator Moon, I knew I had to write the book. It’s more than a story of suspense and romance—it’s a journey into a world where alligators slither through murky bayou waters and passion rules the hearts and minds of the citizens.
This is John Robicheaux and Cassie Havelin’s story, but it’s much more than that. It’s also the story of how decent people can become so caught up in a diabolical lie that it destroys them. But mostly it’s a story of suspense that entangles the hero and heroine until they are forced to open old wounds and give themselves a chance to love again.
I love to hear from readers. Please visit my Web site at www.joannawayne.com. Or drop me a line at Joanna@joannawayne.com. Let me know if you’d like to receive my electronic newsletter.
Happy reading,
Alligator Moon
Joanna Wayne
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JOANNA WAYNE
is a multipublished, award-winning, bestselling author known for her cutting-edge romantic suspense. She lives with her husband just outside the steamy, sultry city of New Orleans, Louisiana, near the bayou country that was the inspiration and setting for Alligator Moon. A narrow bayou runs behind her house and most afternoons you can find her on the back patio, a glass of iced tea in hand, her fingers typing away on her laptop computer, enjoying the ducks, turtles, egrets and various other wildlife that share her domain. On rare occasions an alligator has even been spotted swimming by.
Joanna has always been an avid reader and she claims that writing her novels of romantic suspense was a natural progression from reading them. Not only is the writing exciting and rewarding, but also she loves the research. In the process of gathering material for her novels, she has rounded up cattle by helicopter, gone on trips deep into humid swamps, walked deserted beaches in the moonlight, visited morgues, looked through gritty crime-scene photos and visited FBI headquarters. And those are just a few of her research adventures.
Writing is more of a passion than a job for Joanna. She loves nothing more than taking a hero and heroine from breath-stealing danger to happily-ever-after. Who could complain about a day like that?
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
DENNIS ROBICHEAUX gave the propofol thirty seconds to work, then leaned over the patient. “Can you hear me, Mrs. Flanders?”
“Is she fully under?” Angela Dubuisson asked, not looking up from the instruments she was readying for the surgeon.
“Yeah. They can’t resist my French kiss.”
“Are we still talking about patients?”
“Now, boo, you know you can’t believe all that trash they talk by Suzette’s.”
“That’s not a problem since I don’t hang out in smoky bars that smell like crawfish and grease.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Sure I do. A bunch of drunks looking for an easy lay.”
Dennis fit the endotracheal tube down the patient’s throat, slowly, easing it past the relaxed muscles, the task almost second nature to him now.
Angela pulled the blanket over the patient. “How’s she doing?”
“All that’s left is to hook her up to Big Blue,” he said, nodding toward the anesthetic machine. Dennis finished sealing the tube so that the patient wouldn’t choke on her own saliva. “Down for the count. Where’s our surgeon and his faithful nurse?”
As if on cue, the door to the operating room swung open and Dr. Norman Guilliot strode in, his hands still dripping from the sanitizing scrub. Angela became far more animated now that the self-proclaimed king of scalpel makeovers had appeared. She handed him a towel, then helped him into his gown and gloves. Susan Dalton was a step behind the doctor, her blue eyes dancing above her surgery mask.
“Got Ms. Ginny Lynn all ready for you, Doc,” Dennis announced.
Dr. Guilliot leaned over the patient and pinched the excess skin beneath her chin, pulling it tight. “In for the works, isn’t she?”
“Eyelid, face and forehead lift.”
“Must have a sentimental attachment to the nose,” Dennis said.
“She just wants to look her best for the glory of God,” Guilliot said, mimicking the patient as he ran a finger under the delicate eye area. Ginny Lynn was the wife of the Reverend Evan Flanders, a TV evangelist who’d become a household word in the New Orleans area.
Dr. Guilliot lifted the fatty tissue above the lid, pinching and pulling it away from the eye before beginning the delicate task of marking his incision lines in blue.
Dennis monitored his machine. “Want me to make the initial incision for you, Doc, since Fellowship Freddie’s off on his minivacation?”
“No, just stick to giving your Versed cocktails to the patient. The surgery has to be a work of perfection. We can’t have any scars showing when she goes back under the bright glare of fame.”
“I doubt Frankenstein’s scars would show beneath the makeup she wears,” Susan said.
“Careful,” Dennis said. “You’re talking about the Lord’s anointed.”
“What’s the deal with Fellowship Freddie?” Susan asked. “I never see him with a woman. Does he swing the other way?”
“He’s got a girlfriend,” Dennis said. “A real looker, way too hot for him.”
“I guess you checked her out,” Guilliot said.
“Me? Mess around with a friend’s woman? You know me better than that.”
Easy chatter, the kind you didn’t get in a big city hospital. That was one of the reasons Dennis had jumped at the offer to work with Dr. Guilliot at his private clinic. Not only that, but he and the surgeon got along great. If Guilliot treated him any better, Dennis would expect to be in the will.
But the deal clincher for accepting the position had been location. The restored plantation house was practically in his backyard, and good Cajun boys like himself didn’t like straying too far from home.
Angela moved in beside the doctor as he started the procedure. She’d been his tech nurse for twenty years, had come with him sixteen years ago when Dr. Guilliot had left his position as chief of reconstructive surgery at a New Orleans hospital and established the Magnolia Plantation Restorative and Therapeutic Center.
Like any good tech nurse, Angela worked like a seamless extension of the surgeon’s arm. He reached, she was ready with forceps, scalpel, surgery scissors, lighted retractor or lap sponge.
“How are her vitals?” Dr. Guilliot asked.
“Blood pressure’s down. Ninety systolic. I’ll drop off on the gasses.” Dennis turned the knobs, making small, precise adjustments. “How’s the new Porsche?” he asked. “Had it full throttle yet?”
“Close. She’s one sweet piece of dynamics.”
“How ’bout I take her for the weekend and break her in the rest of the way for you?”
“Touch that car, and you lose an arm.”
The chatter continued, from cars to fishing and back again. They were thirty minutes into the operation when Dennis felt the first pangs of apprehension. “Pulse rate is dropping,” he said. “I’m going to inject a vial of ephedrine.”
“What’s the reading?”
“Fifty-five.”
Dennis opened the vial, injected it through the IV line and watched the monitor, confident the ephedrine would kick in and do its job. The seconds ticked away.
“How we coming?” Guilliot asked without looking up from his work.
“Pulse and pressure not responding.” Dennis opened another vial of ephedrine and injected it through the IV. “This should take care of it.”
It didn’t. The numbers continued to slide. Dennis’s hands shook as he tore open the next vial and injected the drug. Still no change. Damn. There was no explanation for this. The woman was healthy. He’d read her chart.
Susan rounded the operating table, took one look at the monitor and gasped.
“What the devil’s going on?” Guilliot demanded.
“Not looking good.”
“Then do something, Dennis. I’ve got her wide open here, and I’m not losing a patient on the table.”
Dennis hadn’t prayed in quite a while. It came naturally now, under his breath, interspersed with curses as sweat pooled under his armpits and dripped from his brow.
