A Thin Dark Line

"Keep the threads separate or you end up with a knot, 'Toinette," Nick said sharply. "One: You got a rapist ru

"Maybe," A

"I've considered the possibilities. I still believe Renard killed her."

"Of course you do, because if Renard isn't the killer, then what does that make you? An avenging angel without motive is just a thug. Justice dispensed on an i

The same line of thinking had drawn through Nick's mind as he drove back from New Orleans, aching from the beating DiMonti's goons had given him. What if the focus he had directed at Renard prevented him from seeing other possibilities? What did that make him, indeed?

"Is that what you think of me, Toinette? You think I'm a criminal?"

A

"Human," he said, staring out at the night. "The rain's stopped."

He went out onto the balcony. A

"What are you go

"I have a feeling I'd be wasting my time." A

"I'll file a report in the morning and call around to the body shops myself, see if I can find a big car with half my paint job on the side. I could probably get better odds on the Saints wi

"I'll check out Mullen's alibi," Nick offered. "It's time I had a little chat with him, anyhow."

"Thanks."

"I saw Stokes tonight. He says the Faulkner woman is stable but still unconscious."

A

"No."

"Did he say anything about me?"

"That you're a pain in the ass. Same old, same old. Do you think she might have said something to him about you digging around?"

"I don't see why she wouldn't have. When I saw her Sunday, she told me she'd sooner deal with Stokes. She wasn't happy about me saving Renard's hide. So she sees Stokes over lunch, presumably to tell him something about Pam. Then she calls me that night: apologetic, wants to get together."

"Why the change of heart?"

"I don't know. Maybe Stokes didn't think what she had to say was important. But if she did mention me, why didn't he call me on it?" she asked. "I don't get that. This afternoon he told me to stay away from his cases, but why wouldn't he go to the sheriff? He knows I'm already in trouble. He might have a chance of getting me suspended. Why wouldn't he go for it?"

"But if he tells Noblier, that opens a can of worms for him too, sugar," Nick said. "If it looks like he's not working the case hard enough, maybe Gus takes it away from him- especially now that Stokes has the rape task force. He doesn't want to give up the Bichon homicide any more than I did."

"Yeah… I guess that makes sense." She tried to shrug off her uneasiness. "Maybe Lindsay didn't say anything. I guess I won't know 'til she comes around. If she comes around. I hope she comes around. I wish I knew what she wanted to tell me."

The sounds of the night settled around them-wind in the trees, a splash in the water, the staccato quock of a black-crowned night heron out on one of the willow islands. The air was ripe with the smell of green growth and fish and mud.

Odd, A

"This is where you grew up," he said.

"Yeah. Once, when I was eight, I tied a rope to that corner post and tried to rappel down to the ground. I kicked in a screen down below and landed smack in the middle of a table of tourists from France."

He chuckled. "Destined for trouble from an early age."

His words brought an unexpected image of her mother, coming here alone and pregnant, never revealing to anyone the father of her child. She had been trouble from conception, apparently. Every once in a while she felt a pinch of guilt for that, even though she'd had no say in the matter. The pain bloomed quick and bright, like a drop of blood from the prick of a thorn.

Nick watched as melancholy came over her like a veil and wondered at its source, wondered if that source was the reason she preferred the surface to the depths of life. He felt a sadness at the sudden absence of her usual spark. Was it that surface light in her that attracted him or the reserves of strength she had yet to tap?

"Me, I grew up out that way," he said, pointing off to the southeast. "The middle of nowhere was the center of my world. At least until I was twelve."

A

"How did you go from there to here?" she asked.

The expression in his eyes turned remote and reflective. His voice sounded road-weary. "The long way."

"I actually thought you might have died last night," she admitted belatedly.

"Disappointed?"

"No."

"Some folks would be. Marcotte, Renard, Smith Pritchett." He thought back to the comment Stokes had made that afternoon. "What about Mr. Doucet with the DA's office?"

"A.J.?" she said, looking puzzled. "What's he got to do with you?"

"What's he got to do with you?" Nick asked. "Rumor has it you're an item, you and Mr. Deputy DA."

"Oh, that," A

"Because of what I did to Renard? Or because of what I did with you?"

"Both."

"And on the second count: Does he have cause?"

"He would say yes."

"I'm asking you," Nick said, holding his breath as he waited for her answer.

"No," she said softly. "I'm not sleeping with him, if that's what you're asking."

"That's what I'm asking, 'Toinette," he said. "Me, I don't like to share."

"That's not to say I think this is such a great idea, Nick," A

"I know." He stepped closer, settling his hands on her hips, wanting to touch her, to lay claim in a basic way. "Neither do I."