Bordelaise, Louisiana, May
Moonlight coming through the thin veil of curtains cast a
pale yellow glow on the sweat-slicked bodies of the couple
in the four-poster bed.
The woman's long dark hair spilled across the pillow beneath
her head, while the man's hair, still damp from an earlier
shower, glistened in the moonlight.
Her legs were locked around his waist.
His hands were braced on either side of her body.
The intensity of their lovemaking was, as always, made all
the sweeter because their time together was so brief. But
the briefness of their interlude was not because this was a
secretive affair. J.R. and Katie Earle were married, and to
each other. It was his job that kept them apart.
A single bead of sweat ran from J.R.'s hair and down the
middle of his back, but he didn't feel it. The only thing on
his mind was how good it felt to be making slow, sweet love
to Katie.
Their bodies rocked in perfect rhythmβthe kind that true
partners knowβmeeting each other thrust for thrust as the
heat between them grew. Like dancers caught in the spotlight
of moonglow, their bodies moved in graceful passion.
It wasn't until Katie began to moan and her body began to
tremble that J.R. lost his own control. He gave up and gave
in, spilling his seed deep inside her in wave after wave of
helpless ecstasy.
Katie was still shaking from the rocket ride of her climax
when J.R. buried his face against the side of her neck and
then covered her face with kisses.
"Ah, Godβ¦Katieβ¦so good. So good. You don't know how I miss
you when I'm gone."
Katie shuddered on a sigh as she wrapped her arms around his
neck.
"I love you so much," she said softly.
J.R.'s heart skipped. That was a vow that never got old.
"I love you, too, baby," he said softly, then pulled her to
him and closed his eyes.
Like all married couples, their lives weren't perfect. Katie
would have been happier if J.R.'s job didn't take him away
from home, if they could be together every night, like most
of the other families in Bordelaise. It wasn't the best of
situations, but his job was too good to give up, and until
now, they'd had no other options.
What Katie didn't know was that this weekend, J.R. had come
with a secret. Macklan Brothers Oil had just given him a
promotion that would mean he'd be home every night. All they
had to do was move to New Orleans and their lives would be
perfect.
But there was a kink yet to be ironed out. J.R. knew how
attached his wife was to this town and this house, and how
fragile she had been emotionally since her parents' deaths.
Katie's parents had lived in Bordelaise all their lives
until J.R. and Katie got married. That was when they'd
deeded their little house to the newlyweds as a wedding
present and moved to New Orleans, and that was where they
were living when their grandson, Bobby, was born. Just
before his second birthday, Hurricane Katrina hit.
Communication ground to a halt. Cell phones didn't work.
People who'd been evacuated became separated from their
families. Hundreds upon hundreds of people were unaccounted
for. And Katie's parents were among them.
The days of not knowing had turned into weeks of pure misery
before their bodies were finally found, floating in what had
once been the attic of their home.
If it hadn't been for J.R. and the knowledge that she had to
stay strong for the child who needed her, Katie would have
lost her mind.
They'd gotten through the tragedy together, even though
there were still times when the knowledge of how her parents
had died threatened to overwhelm her. But the familiarity of
Bordelaise, and the comfort of living in her childhood home,
had been a buffer against the pain.
J.R. knew she hated being apart from him as much as he did
her, but he was afraid to tell her about the promotion, and
uncertain how she was going to feel about moving to the city
of her nightmares.
It was that very fear that had kept him from blurting out
his news the moment he'd walked in, and it was still that
fear that kept him silent as they fell asleep in each
other's arms.
On the other side of town, the window-unit air conditioner
on the south wall of Newton Collins's trailer house vibrated
noisily as it wheezed out intermittent puffs of cool air.
The living room where Newt was sitting was dark, as were
most of the other homes in Bordelaise. But that was as it
should be, considering it was after midnight. The only other
sound in the room was the steady slapping sound of flesh
against flesh as Newt pumped his erection with rock-solid
rhythm.
His lips were slack, his gaze locked on the flickering light
of his computer screen, which showed the innocent faces of
the pretty little boys cavorting on a trampoline. That the
little boys were nude was just icing on the cake.
Outside, a passing car suddenly backfired, jarring Newt's
concentration. Afraid he would lose his erection, he tugged
harder, which distracted his vibe even more. Despite his
best efforts, his cock finally went limp. He groaned, then
cursed. Now he either spent a night with frustrated dreams,
or got up and did something about it.
Even though he was reluctant to leave the comfort of his
trailer for the muggy heat of a Louisiana night, he could no
more control the urge for satisfaction than he could
understand why only pretty little boys got him off.
He dragged himself up from his recliner and began to dress.
One positive note about being forty-seven years old and
attracted only to little boys was that he didn't need to
worry much about his appearance. Women would have been put
off by his paunch, narrow-set green eyes and brown, thinning
hair. He knew his chin was receding and his nose was too
large for his face, but he didn't care. He had no interest
in attracting women. They didn't attract him. Why bother to
fight it?
By the time he was reaching for his shoes, he was already
getting amped just thinking about what came next. He palmed
his car keys and headed out the door.
There was an all-night quick stop near the middle of town,
and from there it was only two blocks to J.R. and Katie
Earle's house. However, he had no interest in the couple who
lived there, other than to make sure they didn't know about
his midnight runs. For Newt, it was their seven-year-old
little boy, Bobby, who was the draw.
But he had to be careful to just look and not touch. He had
done time in the California justice system for child
molestation, but after leaving the state a few years
earlier, he had managed to slip under the radar by keeping
his hands to and on himself. His job as a bus mechanic for
the Bordelaise School District was the perfect environment
for a man with his particular tastes. He was getting paid
for a specific skill with engines, with an added bonus of
free looks at an endless array of little boys in the school
right next door.
Once outside, he broke into an instant sweat from the heat
and humidity, and promised himself that when he got to
Pinky's Get and Go, he'd buy himself a good, cold Pepsi, and
maybe a Snickers bar to go with it. Nothing wrong with
adding a little caffeine to the titillation he was seeking.
He got into his truck and started the engine, then quickly
switched on the air-conditioning as he drove out of Walker's
Trailer Park. Just thinking about Bobby Earle upped his pulse.
When he got to Pinky's, he parked off to the side of the
building, away from the single streetlight, and walked
inside. As usual, Pinky Barton was behind the counter.
Pinky owned the store and worked the night shift. His wife,
Tina, worked the day shift. They attributed their forty-year
marriage to the fact that the only time they crossed paths
was coming and going from the store.
"How's it going?" Pinky asked, as Newt walked inside.
"Good enough. Couldn't sleep, though," Newt said, as he took
a cold bottle of Pepsi from the cooler. He stopped on the
way back to the checkout counter and grabbed a can of Vienna
sausages.
"Yeah, I hear ya," Pinky said. "Damn heat and humidity.
Ain't good for nothin' but skeeters and gators."
Newt didn't have an argument for that.
The yellow tint of neon lights behind the counter reflected
off Pinky's bald head as Newt set his cold pop and canned
meat on the counter.
"Add a candy bar to that," Newt said, as he flipped a
ten-dollar bill onto the counter, chose a Snickers off the
shelf beside the register, tore the end off the wrapper and
took a big bite while he waited for his change.
"Take it easy," Pinky said, as Newt stuffed the change in
his pocket and headed for the door.
"You, too," Newt said, and walked back toward his truck.
But he didn't get in. He cast a quick glance around the
area, making sure none of the local cop cars were cruising
nearby, then disappeared into the shadows. By the time he
got to the street where the Earles lived, he'd finished his
candy and was downing the last of his pop. He paused on the
sidewalk, giving the neighborhood the once-over. All the
house lights were out except for a second-story window down
the block.
Newt knew who lived there and that the presence of an
upstairs light posed no threat. That was Carlton Weaver's
house. Old Carl was a widower with a penchant for women with
big boobs. If the light was on, that meant Carl was still up
watching the Playboy Channel, which meant he wouldn't give a
shit about what was going on outside his house.
Newt glanced up and down the empty streets one last time,
then took it as a sign it was time to make his move into the
alley that ran behind the Earles' white frame house.
A few yards down, he tossed the empty pop bottle and candy
wrapper into a trash can, then popped the top on the can of
Vienna sausages. He knew the scent was going to reach the
dog in the next backyard before he did, just like he also
knew that the routine he'd fostered would keep Old Sounder
from barking.
Sure enough, as he moved toward the back of the fence, he
heard the dog whine in anticipation.
"Hey, boy," he whispered, then paused long enough to dump
the meat into the yard.
The old hunting dog was still licking ...
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