Tami Hoag - Cry Wolf

"Lady Astor Cooper," she sneered, planting her hands on her hips. "Patron saint of martyred husbands."

"Better I martyr myself to my marriage than to my cock."

"Are you implying that's what I do?" she demanded. "Martyr myself to sex?"

Cooper hissed a breath in through his teeth and made no comment. They were treading on dangerous ground. He had his own theories about Savannah 's sexual motives, but it would do no good to share them with her. He could too easily envision her in a rage of hurt and hysteria, wildly lashing out. And he had no desire to hurt her. For all her faults, he had fallen in love with her. Hopeless love in the truest sense.

"Well, I've got news for you, Mr. Cooper," she said, leaning up into his face, her lovely mouth twisted with bitterness. "I get fucked because I like getting fucked, and if you don't want to do it, then I'll go find someone who will."

He caught her arms and held her there for a moment as she breathed fury into his face, steaming his glasses all over again. A deep, profound sadness swelled inside him and he frowned. "You make yourself miserable, Savannah," he murmured.

She shivered inside, trying to shake off the chill of the truth. Coop saw it, damn him. He caught her eyes with that worldly-wise, world-weary, worn blue gaze, and saw he'd struck a nerve. She jerked away from him and grabbed her sunglasses off the table.

"Save your insights for your work, Coop," she said waspishly. "It's the only place you really let yourself live." She jammed the Ray-Bans in place and flashed him a mocking smile. "Have a nice day, Mr. Cooper."

She whirled out of Madame Collette's in a huff and a cloud of Obsession, not bothering to pay the bill. Ruby Jeffcoat knew who she was, the dried-up old bitch. She'd just add it to the tab and tell every third person she saw what a slut Savannah Chandler was, prancing around town in a skirt cut up to her crotch and no bra on.

Laurel pushed herself away from the side of the Corvette as Savannah stormed across the parking lot, all pique and no pie in sight. She looked furious, and Laurel had a strong hunch it wasn't anything to do with the restaurant, but one of its patrons. Conroy Cooper. Old enough to be their father Conroy Cooper. Married Conroy Cooper.

Oh, Savannah…

"Let's get the hell out of here," Savannah snarled. Tossing her purse behind the seat, she jerked open the driver's door and slid in behind the wheel.

Laurel barely had time to get in the car before the 'Vette was revved and rolling. They hit Dumas, and Savannah put her foot to the floor, sending the sports car squealing away from Madame Collette's, leaving a trail of rubber.

"Where are we going?" Laurel asked as casually as she could, considering she had to shout to be heard above the roar of the wind and the engine.

"Frenchie's," Savannah yelled, pulling the pins from her hair and letting them fly. "I need a drink."

Laurel buckled her seat belt and held on, not bothering to comment on the fact that it didn't look as though they'd be having rhubarb pie for supper, and trying her damnedest not to think about Jack Boudreaux.

"Jesus saves!"

"Jesus lives!"

"Jesus Christ," Savannah snarled as she stopped in her tracks, propped a hand on one hip, and took a look at the scene outside Frenchie's.

Patrons crowded the gallery, staring down, bemused at a dozen protestors who were toting signs bearing such intelligent slogans as "Close Frenchie's. End Sin." The picketers were gathered in a knot at the bottom of the steps, putting on a show for the camera of a Lafayette tele-vision station, chanting their slogans in a vain attempt to drown out the swamp pop music that spilled through the screens.

In the center of the righteous stood the ringleader of their band, Reverend Jimmy Lee Baldwin, resplendent in a white summer suit, fresh out of the JC Penney catalog. Two thousand dollars' worth of too-white caps shone as he spoke to a reporter who looked as though he used enough hair spray to put his own personal hole in the ozone.

Jimmy Lee was good-looking, standing an inch or two past six feet tall, and had once been lean and athletic, though in the years since high school basketball, firm muscle had softened. He wore his tawny hair slicked straight back from his face, drawing attention to his eyes, which were the color of good scotch, and to the dazzling dental wonders that lined his smile like big white Chiclets.

Though he was barely thirty-eight, lines of dissipation were etched deeply beside those tawny eyes and around a mouth that had a certain weakness about it. Between the teeth and the tan that looked as though he'd gotten it down at the Suds 'n' Sun Laundromat/Tanning Parlor, Jimmy Lee looked just a little too tacky to be truly handsome. Not that anyone could ever have convinced him of that.

"Who is it?" Laurel asked, shoving her glasses up on her nose. The sight of the white news van automatically made her nervous. The irrational fear that they had come here to track her down flashed through her mind, but she resolutely crushed it out with the gavel of practicality. She wasn't news any longer.

"The Reverend Jimmy Lee Baldwin. Saver of lost souls, purveyor of heavenly blessings, leader of the Church of the True Path."

"I've never heard of it."

"No. I reckon Georgia had its own religious screwballs. The Revver showed up here about six months back and started to gather himself a flock. He's got his own show now on local cable up in Lafayette. Fixin' to be a big star in the televangelist ranks, he is."

Savannah dug a cigarette out of her pocketbook and lit it, taking a long, considering drag as she stared at Jimmy Lee through her sunglasses. He was on a roll, gesturing like a wild man as he began ranting about the dens of iniquity.

"Come on, Baby," she said on a breath of smoke. "I need to get me that drink."

Laurel started for the side door, having no desire to call attention to herself by crashing a picket line. But Savannah made a beeline for the action, miniskirt twitching across her thighs, hips swaying alluringly. She gave her head a toss, fluffing her long, wild mane with her free hand as she went. She looked like a walking ad for wanton sex and decadent living. Laurel bit back a groan and followed her. Trouble had always been a magnet to Savannah, and she was headed toward this mess with a sly smile teasing the corners of her mouth.

Her approach did not go unnoticed. Almost immediately a chorus of wild cheers and wolf whistles rose from the men on the gallery. Of the group involved in the protest, the reporter saw her first, his head snapping around in a classic double take as he held the microphone in front of Reverend Baldwin. He elbowed the cameraman, who swung his lens in her direction. Reverend Baldwin broke off in midtirade, clearly annoyed to have his moment in the spotlight cut short. He recovered quickly, though, and moved to turn the situation to his advantage.

"Sister, sister, be redeemed!" he called dramatically. "Let Christ Jesus quench your thirst."

Savannah stopped a scant six inches from the minister, cocked a hip, and blew a stream of smoke in his face. "Honey, if He shows up in the next five minutes with a Jax long-neck, I'll be glad to let Him quench my thirst. In the meantime Frenchie can serve that need just fine."

She blew a kiss to the camera while the crowd on the gallery howled laughing, and sauntered on, the picketers-turned-gawkers parting like the Red Sea to let her pass on up the steps. Laurel tried to hurry after her before the faithful closed ranks on their leader again, but Baldwin caught her by the arm.

"Turn to God, young woman. Find the True Path! Let the Lord quench the thirst in your soul with conviction and righteousness!"

Laurel looked up at him, her brows pulling together in annoyance. She had no patience for the likes of Jimmy Lee Baldwin. Televangelists ranked a notch lower than disreputable used-car salesmen in her book, bilking the poor and the elderly out of what limited funds they had, selling them the kind of salvation God offered free of charge in the Bible. She hadn't come here looking for a fight. In fact, she would have given anything to have passed unnoticed through the throng. But she wasn't about to be used as a pawn. She pulled in a deep breath and felt the fire that had been turned low leap inside her.