Tami Hoag - Cry Wolf

Feeling smug, she strolled into the room, her gait loose, hips swinging. She had dressed for the occasion in a scandalously short, sleeveless dress that was white with large red amaryllis blossoms splashed across it, and fit her like skin on a sausage. Aside from her red stiletto heels, it was the only article of clothing she wore. She had looped a long strand of pearls carelessly around her neck to accompany her ever-present pendant, and brushed her hair upside down so that it was now like a cloud around her shoulders, wild and sexy. Her Ray-Bans completed the outfit, hiding her eyes, giving her an air of mystery.

" Savannah," Laurel said, finding her tongue at last. She studied her sister and chose her words carefully. "We didn't expect to see you."

"I had a change in plans," Savannah said evenly. "I need to borrow your car, Baby. Seeing how mine is temporarily out of commission."

"Of course." Laurel took a step toward the door. "You can give me a ride back to Belle Rivière. I was just leaving."

"So soon?" Savannah cooed, disappointment plumping out her lower lip as she slid her sunglasses down her nose and stroked a gaze down Stephen Danjermond. "I haven't even been properly introduced."

Laurel bit her tongue and held her temper, saying a quick prayer that her sister wouldn't do anything more outrageous than she already had. She slipped an arm through Savannah 's, intent on controlling her in some way.

"Stephen Danjermond, my sister, Savannah. Savannah- "

"District Attorney Danjermond," Savannah murmured, preening like a cat, offering her free hand to the man Vivian had obviously marked for Laurel. "Such a pleasure, Mr. Danjermond. Savannah Chandler Leighton at your…" Her gaze slid down the long, lean, elegant length of him, lingering suggestively. "… service."

"Miss Leighton?" One dark brow rose a fraction. "You go by your stepfather's name?"

"Oh, yes," Savannah purred, stroking the palm of his hand with her fingertip. She shot a look at Ross across the room. "I owe my stepdaddy so much after all." She lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. "Ross made me what I am today, you know."

" Savannah." Vivian's voice cut across the parlor like a scimitar. She stood rigid and queenly beside her chair, hands clasped tightly in front of her. "What a surprise to see you here."

"Yes, I expect it is," Savannah drawled sweetly, cocking a hip and planting her hand on it in a belligerent stance that perfectly mirrored her attitude. "Seeing how you told me once to get the hell out of this house and never come back."

Laurel flinched inwardly as her stomach knotted with tension. She moved toward her sister, reaching out to put a hand on Savannah 's arm. " Savannah, please, let's just go."

"Yes," Vivian snapped, her alabaster complexion mottling red with anger. "Please do go. If you can't keep a civil tongue in your head and behave as a lady, you are not welcome here."

Savannah shrugged off Laurel 's hand and sauntered toward the door, stopping within a yard of their mother. All the old bitterness seethed up inside her like acid, boiling and churning, eating away at her. Her face twisted into a sour mask. "I've never been a lady in this house, and I used to be welcome day and night."

"Sister, please," Laurel whispered, taking hold of Savannah 's wrist. Her gaze darted between the raw fury and sheen of tears in Vivian's eyes to Ross, who stood across the room, suddenly fascinated by the pattern in the Aubusson rug. "Please, let's go."

The tremor in Laurel 's voice was the only thing that kept Savannah from lighting into her mother and shouting to the very proper guests that she was what she was because Ross Leighton had mounted her four times a week from the day she turned thirteen. And her very proper, perfect belle mother had never even suspected-because Vivian saw only what she wanted to see.

Vivian and Ross deserved whatever humiliation she brought them. But now was not the time. Poor Baby, always the peacemaker; she didn't need the tension. Savannah had, after all, come here to rescue her. Besides, she preferred to torture her mother and stepfather in little, never-ending ways.

"Come on, Baby," she murmured, sliding an arm around Laurel.

They walked out of the parlor in no particular hurry, down the hall past Olive, who stood red-eyed, her flat face pale and wet, her stringy red hair clinging to her cheeks. The maid glared at Savannah. Savannah just laughed.

Laurel wanted to run and fling the door open and sprint for her car, but she was stuck beside Savannah, moving with nightmarish deliberation, their shoes clicking against the marble floor. She didn't dare try to rush. When Savannah was in one of her moods, there was no telling what she might do, what might set her off. Outside, the sun was breaking through. The low clouds that had brought the shower were already tearing apart into thin, gauzy strips and floating away. Humidity hung in the air like steam, thick and hard to breathe, intensifying the rich green scents of boxwood and bougainvillea. Savannah paused on the veranda as if she had all day and surveyed what might have been her kingdom if their father had lived.

Laurel saw it too. The broad sweeping emerald lawn, the lush semitropical growth of the cypress swamp beyond, the broad money green leaves of the sugarcane that stretched off in the other direction beyond the pecan grove. Home to generations of Chandlers. Generations that would end with them.

"Why did you have to do that?" she asked.

Savannah slid her sunglasses off and arched a brow. "Why? Because they deserved it. I came here to save you."

"Save me?" Laurel shook her head. "I was doing just fine. It was only a dinner. I was about to leave."

"Well, isn't that gratitude?" Savannah said sarcastically, cocking her hip. "I did what you've never had the nerve to do-I stood up to them-"

"I don't see the point in making a big public scene-"

"You wouldn't, would you?"

The remark cut Laurel to the bone. She sucked in a breath and looked away, guilt and anger twining inside her like vines. It wasn't fair of Savannah to blame her for not having been abused by Ross, but it was unpardonable that Laurel felt lucky for the same reason. The cycle of feelings never ended.

"Let's just go home and start the afternoon over, okay?" Start over. That was what she had come to Bayou Breaux to do. Why had she thought she would be able to start over in a place where the past never went away? She wanted to think they could all rise above it and move on, but with every moment she spent here, she felt it pulling at her more and more, like quicksand, like the thick mud of the swamp, sucking her down, draining her strength.

Savannah climbed in on the driver's side of Laurel 's black Acura, her dress riding up her bare thighs. Laurel went around the hood and slid into the passenger's seat, her eyes on the veranda of Beauvoir. Olive stood at the main door, glaring at them. There was no sign of Vivian, who was doubtless in the parlor, trying to smooth things over as best she could with her guests.

Poor Mama, always so afraid of what people would think.

"How did you get out here?" she asked absently.

Savannah started the car and swung it around the circular drive, flinging a wave of crushed shell across the yard. She eased off the accelerator as they headed down beneath the canopy of the live oak.

"Ronnie Peltier gave me a ride." She laughed at that and draped her left arm casually along the open window. "I gave him three rides last night. I figured he owed me."

Laurel blew out a sigh and speared a hand back through her hair. "I wish you wouldn't do that."

"What? Have sex with Ronnie Peltier?"

"Tell me about it. I don't want to hear it, Sister."

"Christ, Baby," Savannah snapped. "You're such a prude. Maybe if you had sex once in a while, you wouldn't be so uptight about it." She barely slowed for the turn onto the bayou road, wheeling out in front of a four-by-four truck and squealing away from it as a horn blasted indignantly. "Maybe you ought to take that long, tall district attorney for a ride. He had a look about him." She smiled slowly, savoring the idea of going a round or two with Stephen Danjermond herself. "I'll bet he's got a ten-inch cock and screws with his eyes open."