Trouble in Mudbug (Ghost-in-Law, #1)(8)

Luc looked across the tiny office to the locked door. “There is another room here that’s locked. I guess I need to get in there and see what she finds so important that she’d deadbolt an interior door.”

“Sounds like a plan,” his boss said. “And, LeJeune, don’t take rejection so personally. Even a guy like you can’t have them all.”

Luc flipped his phone shut and glanced at a photo on the desk of Maryse and some other woman standing in front of a bar in downtown Mudbug. Her wavy brown hair was longer now, but the body was still the same—toned, tight, and tan. He knew he couldn’t have them all. Hell, he hadn’t had them all, and apparently this was going to be another one of those times.

But damned if he wasn’t going to try.


Maryse rolled out of bed the next morning wishing her life belonged to anyone but her. She fed Jasper before he started wailing for his morning tuna, then walked over to her closet and peered inside, wondering what the heck you wore to a will reading. Business, casual, formal wear? Knowing Helena, and from the pompous sound of her attorney, it was probably somewhere between business and formal. And since her only good suit was still at the dry cleaners, courtesy of cleaning the funeral home floor the day before, her choices were seriously limited.

She sighed as she flipped through T-shirt after T-shirt and realized her wardrobe needed some serious updating if she ever planned to do anything but toodle around the bayou in her boat. God forbid she ever had a date. She would be one of those women who “didn’t have a thing to wear.”

At the thought of dating, Luc LeJeune flashed to mind. Oh, no. She blocked out the thoughts of his tanned skin and muscular build and dug into the back of the closet for something, anything but ratty old jeans. No way was she allowing any thoughts of Luc LeJeune to leak in, especially while she was standing in her bedroom, half-clothed.

Luc LeJeune was the hottest guy she’d seen in forever, and her body’s reaction to him had confused and scared her. Sure, it had been a long time since she’d been with a man…okay, more like two years since there hadn’t been anyone since Hank…but that was no cause to go jumping on the first good-looking man she saw. Especially when she couldn’t afford distractions. Especially when a good-looking man was what had gotten her into the situation she was in right now.

Which brought her back to Helena.

She hadn’t seen the ghost since her visit to the cabin, and Maryse hoped things stayed that way. Maybe there was a delay in transitioning to the other side, and she’d simply gotten the raw end of Helena’s transfer. Surely God wouldn’t let Helena roam the Earth alive and dead. He was supposed to be benevolent.

She frowned and yanked a cocktail dress from the back of her closet. Okay, so a will reading probably didn’t rate a party dress, but she simply didn’t have anything in between. Sighing, she tossed the dress onto the bed. At least it was black. It was as close as she was going to come to business attire and would have to do. She dropped down, dug around the back of the closet floor, and pulled out a pair of shiny black satin shoes. Yuck. But the only other options with heels were her rubber boots or her funeral pumps, and they were navy.

She rose with the shoes and tossed them next to the bed, then threw on a T-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. She figured she’d have just enough time to send off the samples she’d collected yesterday and still be able to rush home for a quickie shower before changing for the will reading. With any luck, Luc LeJeune would be out in the bayou studying rat droppings or whatever else he was there to do.

Ten minutes later, she was in her truck and headed to the office. She always drove just a little too fast down the windy gravel roads back in the bayou, but there were rarely other cars on this particular stretch, and the gravel certainly wasn’t going to hurt her well-worn-in truck. Usually, her speed wasn’t a problem.

Until today.

As she approached a sharp turn in the road, she pressed the brakes, but there was no response. Trying not to panic, she lifted her foot and pressed again. Nothing. The pedal just squished to the floorboard as the truck kept hurtling toward the ninety-degree turn.

Now frantic, she turned the wheel, hoping to make the turn, and threw the gear shifter into park. The truck lurched, and, despite the seatbelt, her forehead banged into the steering wheel. The truck tilted to one side at the very edge of the road, and for a moment, Maryse thought she had pulled it off. Finally inertia won out, and the truck slid off the road into the bayou.

Huge sheets of water splashed up and over the cab, making visibility nil. Maryse covered her aching head with her arms and hoped like hell this was a shallow section and not inhabited by any of the bayou’s more aggressive creatures—particularly the meat eaters.

It only took seconds for the water to clear, but it seemed like forever. Almost afraid to look, Maryse lowered her arm and surveyed the damage. The truck was submerged in the bayou almost up to the hood. From the groaning of the metal and the increasing water level, Maryse knew immediately that the truck was sinking further in the thin bayou mud.

Water began to spill in through the cracks in the floorboard and the door, and Maryse figured now was as good a time as any to make her exit. As she cranked down the window, she was grateful she hadn’t been able to afford the fully loaded truck with power everything. Sometimes the old-fashioned way is the best way, she thought as she grabbed her keys and her purse and crawled out.