Tami Hoag - Cry Wolf

Laurel glanced up from the shrimp salad she was picking at. She had changed out of her skirt into a pair of faded denim shorts and a loose purple cotton blouse, and was feeling comfortably inconspicuous again with her glasses perched on her nose. Everyone had trailed out onto the back gallery of Belle Rivière and settled in, cocooned in the quiet of the courtyard and the warmth of the afternoon. "The meal was fine, Mama Pearl. I just didn't have much of an appetite, that's all."

Pearl snorted, her fleshy face folding into creases of supreme disapproval. "Nothin' but bones, you. You gonna dry up an' blow away if you don' get some fat on you."

Savannah stretched back on the cushioned lounge and set her book aside. "Aw, you know what they say, Mama Pearl, a girl can't be too rich or too thin."

Pearl snorted again. "Sa c'est de la couyonade."

Caroline twirled the ice in her glass of tea, her dark eyes carefully fixed on Laurel. "We saw you on the news last night, darlin'. Standing toe to toe with that televangelist."

Pearl cackled and slapped her knees. "You give him good, talk about! Even knowed your Bible verse! Ma bon fille! I tell ever'body at church dis mornin', dat's my girl!"

Laurel made a face that was a cross between a smile and a frown and said nothing. What little appetite she had managed to work up for the shrimp salad fled, and she laid her fork across the plate.

"The Delahoussayes are good people," Caroline said evenly. She let that hang in the air while she recrossed her legs and arranged the hem of her slim pale yellow skirt. "Would it be difficult to stop Baldwin from harassing them?"

Laurel shrugged. "Maybe not. They could talk to Judge Monahan. But that doesn't stop Baldwin from waging his war against sin in other ways."

"A little action is better than a whole lot of talk," Caroline said. She took a sip of her tea and set it back down, tracing a fingertip down the side of the sweating glass.

"Lord knows, action is right up the Revver's alley," Savannah said dryly, winning herself a frown from Laurel. "If Jimmy Lee is a man of God, then the Marquis de Sade is right up there in heaven, tying the lady angels to the pearly gates and licking his lips."

Mama Pearl flung a bean down and scolded Savannah in a rapid stream of Cajun French that rolled off Savannah like water off a duck. Inside the house the telephone rang. Savannah unfolded herself from the chaise in no particular hurry and went to answer it. Pearl collected her bucket and waddled in after her, muttering under her breath.

Laurel quelled the urge to go after them. She could feel Caroline's gaze weighing on her.

"You still belong to the Louisiana Bar Association, don't you?" her aunt asked innocently.

"Yes, but I'm not ready to take anything on," Laurel argued, her fingers curling into fists on the glass table-top. "I don't need the trouble."

Caroline rose, brushing an imaginary crumb from her loose-fitting chocolate silk tunic. She moved a step toward the house, glancing at Laurel as if in afterthought. "Neither do the Delahoussayes."

Laurel ground her teeth as her aunt sauntered through the French doors that led directly into her study. "I came here to rest," she muttered, crossing her arms and sitting back in her chair. "I came here for peace and quiet."

No one answered her. Mama Pearl had gone off to the realm that was her kitchen. Even as Laurel thought of seeking out Savannah so she could vent her spleen, she heard the Acura start and squeal away from the front of the house. Aunt Caroline had given her words of wisdom and retreated.

Suddenly restless, Laurel stood and paced along the gallery for a moment. The afternoon breeze caught at the hem of her blouse, stirred the trailing fronds of a hanging fern, fluttered the pages of Savannah 's abandoned book. Sorely in need of a distraction, Laurel bent and snatched up the paperback.

Evil Illusions by Jack Boudreaux.

The cover depicted the swamp at night, misty and dark, the water shining like black glass under a pale moon. Among the dense growth along the bank, a pair of eyes peered out, glowing red. The artwork was enough to make Laurel shiver. She turned the book over and read the back copy as she stepped down off the gallery and wandered along a brick path toward the back of the courtyard.

Master of suspense, New York Times best-selling author Jack Boudreaux creates another spine-tingling read guaranteed to keep the bravest cynic awake nights.

Something is stalking the town of Perdue, Louisiana, preying on children and spreading a terror that threatens to tear the town apart. By day Perdue maintains the facade of a picture-perfect small town, but appearances are illusion, and evil lurks in the woods beyond, waiting for the sun to set.

Beautiful young widow Clarie Fontaine has come to Perdue with her daughter to claim an inheritance the locals say is cursed. Haunted by a violent past, she hopes to make a fresh start. But even as she begins a new career as a nurse practitioner in the local clinic, a shadow is falling across her path to happiness. A shadow of menace… and death.

As terror tightens its grip on the town, Claire must decide whom she can trust. Is the dashing Dr. Verret a worthy candidate… or a killer? Is resident magician Jalen Pierce a harmless huckster, or is his innocent guise… an Evil Illusion…

Intrigued, Laurel settled back on a stone bench in a corner of the courtyard and opened the book at random.

Night clutches the swamp in a grip as cold and black as death. Fingers of mist slither among the trunks of the cypress like ghostly snakes. From somewhere in the distance comes a roar that calls to mind prehistoric times, primeval swamps, ancient monsters.

Fear runs in rivulets down Paula's back. As she sits in the bâteau, waiting, watching, a sense of evil presses in on her. It is thick and heavy in the air. As thick as the mist. As suffocating as a blanket. She claws at the collar of her blouse and tries to swallow, swings around at a rustle in the underbrush behind her.

A nutria screams as it meets its death. A cottonmouth breaks the surface of the bayou, its long, lithe body wrapped around the thrashing body of a bullfrog. Overhead a winged black shape swoops down from the branches of a tree. Another night predator. An owl… a bat… something hideous… something terrifying… And a scream rips from Paula's throat. Hot, wild, raw. A scream like the nutria's. The scream of prey. Heard by no one. Swallowed up by the night.

"I'm flattered."

Laurel jumped, her heart leapfrogging into her throat. Jack stood not two feet away, leaning indolently against one of Aunt Caroline's Grecian lady statues, his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans, one leg cocked. He looked tough and sexy in a faded black T-shirt depicting a dancing alligator and the slogan "Gator Bait Bar. Restaurant et Salle de Danse." The cut above his left eye only added to his aura of dangerous mystery, and somehow complemented the tiny ruby that winked blood red on his earlobe.

Laurel gathered her indignation and hopped to her feet, slapping the book shut. "You scared the life out of me!"

Jack grinned at her outrage. "My editor will be glad to hear it. She pays me bags full of money to scare people."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. What do you think you're doing, sneaking up on me?"

He pressed his hands to his heart and looked too innocent to be believed. "Me, I was just walking along, thinking to myself I oughta do the neighborly thing and stop by for a visit."

She crossed her arms and tapped her toe, eyeing him with open suspicion. Jack stepped closer, lifted the book from her fingers, and tossed it onto the bench.

"You know what your problem is, sugar?" he murmured, sliding his arms around her. She jumped, eyes wide at his nerve, and tried to bolt back, but he locked his hands behind her at the small of her back and held her easily. His wicked smile cut across his face. "You're too tense. You gotta loosen up, angel."