Lethal Read Free Page B

nothing about Lee Coburn except that he’s out here somewhere, and that we’re gonna catch shit if we don’t find him.” Lowering his voice, Fred added, “And I’d just as soon returnhim in a body bag as in handcuffs. Best thing for us? We’d find his lifeless body floating in a bayou.”
    “Townsfolk wouldn’t complain. Marset was highly thought of. Practically the freaking prince of Tambour.”
    Sam Marset had been the owner of the Royale Trucking Company, president of the Rotary Club, an elder at St. Boniface Catholic Church, an Eagle Scout, a Mason. He had chaired various boards and was usually grand marshal of the town’s Mardi Gras parade. He had been a pillar of the community whom folks had admired and liked.
    He was now a corpse with a bullet hole in his head, and, as if that one hadn’t been enough to kill him, another had been fired into his chest for extra measure. The other six shooting victims probably wouldn’t be missed much, but Marset’s murder had warranted a televised press conference earlier that morning. It had been covered by numerous community newspapers from the coastal region of the state, and all of the major New Orleans television stations were represented.
    Fred had presided, flanked at the microphone by city officials, including his twin. The New Orleans P.D. had loaned Tambour police a sketch artist, who’d rendered a drawing of Coburn based on descriptions provided by neighbors: Caucasian male around six feet three inches tall, average weight, athletic build, black hair, blue eyes, thirty-four years of age according to his employee records.
    Fred had concluded the press conference by filling television screens with the drawing and warning locals that Coburn was believed still to be in the area and should be considered armed and dangerous.
    “You laid it on pretty thick,” Doral said now, referring to Fred’s closing remarks. “No matter how slippery LeeCoburn is, everybody’s going to be after his hide. I don’t think he has a prayer of escaping the area.”
    Fred looked at his brother and raised one eyebrow. “You mean that honestly, or is that wishful thinking?”
    Before Doral could reply, Fred’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and smiled across at his brother. “Tom VanAllen. FBI to the rescue.”

Chapter 3

     
    C oburn gradually backed away from the woman, but even then, her fear of him was palpable. Good. He needed her to be afraid. Fear would inspire cooperation. “They’re searching for you,” she said.
    “Behind every tree.”
    “Police, state troopers, volunteers. Dogs.”
    “I heard them yelping early this morning.”
    “They’ll catch you.”
    “They haven’t yet.”
    “You should keep running.”
    “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Mrs. Gillette?”
    Her expression became even more stark with fear, so the significance of his knowing her name hadn’t escaped her. He hadn’t randomly selected her house in which to take refuge. It—she—had been a destination.
    “Mommy, the kitty went into the bushes and won’t come out.”
    Coburn’s back was to the door, but he’d heard the littlegirl come in from outside, had heard the soles of her sandals slapping against the hardwood floor as she approached the kitchen. But he didn’t turn toward her. His gaze remained fixed on the kid’s mother.
    Her face had turned as white as chalk. Her lips looked practically bloodless as her eyes sawed back and forth between him and the kid. But Coburn gave her credit for keeping her voice light and cheerful. “That’s what kitties do, Em. They hide.”
    “How come?”
    “The kitty doesn’t know you, so maybe he’s afraid.”
    “That’s silly.”
    “Yes, it is. Very silly.” She shifted her gaze back to Coburn and added meaningfully, “He should know you won’t do anything.”
    Okay, he wasn’t dense. He got the message. “If you do,” he said softly, “he’ll scratch, and it will hurt.” Holding her frightened stare, he slid the