Xavier's Bayou Temptation

Prologue

Lissette Gautier stepped off the bus outside the town of Bayou Mambaloa.

Her hometown. She should have felt like she was coming home, except she was coming home from prison.

No one was waiting for her return with any measure of happiness or relief. If anything, the people of Bayou Mambaloa would prefer she never return.

However, she had no other choice. It was here or a halfway house in Baton Rouge.

She knew what to expect in her hometown.

In the Halfway-to-Hell house, as some of her fellow inmates at the Louisiana Correctional Institute for Women in St. Gabriel called it, she knew only that she’d have to share a room with a former drug pusher.

She’d spent one year—or three hundred and seventy-five days, to be exact—in the facility, doing time for really bad decisions.

The main lesson she’d learned from the experience was that she never wanted to go back.

Yeah, she shouldn’t have tried to kill a cop— especially not Shelby Taylor. Or was it Montagne now? From what her grandmother had said, Deputy Taylor was now Mrs. Remy Montagne if she’d taken her married name. And she had a baby boy.

Lissette had to admit she was surprised Deputy Taylor and her husband, Remy Montagne, the leader of the Bayou Brotherhood Protectors, hadn’t raised hell about her return to Bayou Mambaloa.

Under the strict rules of her probation, she’d had two options.

The first was to be under the constant supervision of a live-in parole officer at the halfway house in Baton Rouge.

The second was to be overseen by the watchful, critical eye of Bayou Mambaloa’s own Voodoo Queen, her grandmother, Madame Gautier.

Her best bet had been to go to her grandmother, who lived on a tiny island, isolated from the good townsfolk of Bayou Mambaloa. The other condition of her parole was that she get a full-time job.

Who in their right mind would hire someone like herself when she’d been convicted of attempted murder and had served prison time?

Her grandmother had been her only choice. In the year Lissette had been gone, her grandmother, as Madame Gautier, the Voodoo Queen, had set up a herbs and tinctures shop close to Gisele’s Mamba Wamba Voodoo Gift store. She’d created a shop for Lissette to run once she was released from prison.

Lissette snorted softly as she walked from the drop-off point toward town, memorizing the location beyond which she could not pass without express permission from her parole officer.

Yes, she’d been released from jail, but she’d have to remain in a confined space for the first year of her parole.

If she stepped outside that area, she could be sent back to prison.

She’d be damned if she let that happen.

With no luggage, no backpack, no additional clothing or items she could call her own, Lissette strode along the side of the highway, heading into Bayou Mambaloa.

She wore the clothing the prison had provided, consisting of a pair of faded jeans, a white T-shirt, and cheap tennis shoes.

Her straight, dark hair, which hadn’t been trimmed or shaped in a year, was gathered back in a low ponytail at the nape of her neck and secured with a simple black elastic ponytail holder.

She wished she’d had some makeup to cover skin pale from a year spent mostly indoors. To her, it didn’t matter that the day was hot and humid, as was usual in June. Lissette lifted her face to the sun, absorbing the rays as if they held the ingredients needed to restore her sense of well-being.

To be honest with herself, she hadn’t had any sense of well-being long before she’d been sentenced to prison. Hell, she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt good about herself or her life after her father had left and her mother died.

Hot, sweaty, and in no mood to run into anyone she knew, Lissette picked up her pace as she approached the Crawdad Hole Bar and Grill, glad it was early enough in the afternoon there wouldn’t be many customers.

The building looked exactly as it had a year ago, with the addition of picnic tables with umbrellas set out front.

Not that anyone would want to sit in the sweltering heat outside when the inside was air-conditioned.

Before prison, she’d have waltzed right in and asked for a whiskey neat and a glass of ice water, her confidence unshakable, her cockiness on full display.

Known throughout the parish and beyond for the trouble she could stir up, she hadn’t had to play nice.

She’d usually gotten what she’d wanted with little resistance, because most people were scared of her.

Now, with a prison record, she doubted anyone would want anything to do with her, serve her or even offer her a menu. Especially since she’d been convicted of attempted murder of a law enforcement officer, who was loved throughout the community.

No, she had no business walking through the doors of the bar. Not to mention, she was under strict orders to keep her nose clean. No drugs, no drunken brawls, no contact with mafia or cartels.

Above all, she had to stay within her geographic parole limits.

The monitor on her ankle would alert her parole officer if she stepped outside the boundary.

Oh, she could go to New Orleans to meet with her parole officer on a scheduled basis or with permission and only supervised by her grandmother or someone in law enforcement.

Lissette tried to swallow the lump rising in her parched throat. She hadn’t felt this isolated and...lonely...since she’d been ten—homeless, parentless, and taken in by Child Protective Services.

Then, as now, she’d been remanded into her grandmother’s care. Only this time, instead of picking her up, her grandmother had called the prison to say her car had broken down and wouldn’t be out of the shop for a few days.

Lissette had arranged with the warden for the prison bus to drop her off outside Bayou Mambaloa.

Not on Main Street, thank the gods. She’d find her own way home and report in once she got there.

If she didn’t report within an hour of the bus driver dropping her off, they’d send local law enforcement to collect her and bring her back to prison until her parole officer sorted things out.

Nope. Nope. Hell nope.

With a sigh, Lissette squared her shoulders, ignored her thirst and marched past the Crawdad Hole, her attention averted.

“Hey,” a female voice called out.

Lissette frowned and kept walking. Whoever it was couldn’t possibly be hailing her unless she wanted to curse her or tell her she wasn’t welcome.

“Lissette,” the voice sounded again, vaguely familiar and more insistent. “That is you, isn’t it?”

Hearing her name called out, Lissette wanted to keep walking, but curiosity made her stop and glance toward the bar and grill.

The pretty redheaded waitress, Danny French, shaded her eyes with one hand, her other hand holding a thick beer mug drenched in condensation.

Lissette’s eyes narrowed. She responded with a slow nod.

Danny met and held her gaze for a moment. Without a word, she set the mug on the picnic table.

Lissette remained where she’d stopped. The last thing she wanted was to start a conversation with the waitress. She didn’t want to explain why she’d tried to kill Shelby Taylor, and she sure as hell didn’t want to tell anyone what it had been like in prison.

Danny gave a slight dip of her head, turned and walked back into the building, leaving the mug on the picnic table.

If she’d had any pride, Lissette would have walked away without looking back. She swept her tongue across parched lips, the condensation on the mug tempting her more than whatever cool liquid was inside.

Was it a trick? Had Danny set her up to fail on her first encounter back in Bayou Mambaloa? Was the mug full of cool beer straight from the tap?

Her lips pressed together.

Curiosity and thirst drove her forward. When she reached the table, she stared down into the mug full of a clear, colorless liquid.

Her frown deepened as she lifted the mug, her warm hands wrapping around the cool glass. She pressed the mug’s moistened exterior to her cheek and neck, reveling in the coolness.

Then she sniffed the liquid inside.

No scent. But then Vodka didn’t have a strong aroma, did it?

With a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, she lifted the mug to her lips and sipped.

It was cool, clear, ice water, with the last vestiges of cubes melting away as she stared down at the offering.

Not a trick. Not a test. No confrontation, accusations or judgmental glare.

Just...water.

Lissette tipped the mug back and drank it halfway down, some of the liquid spilling out the sides, across her chin and down her neck.

When she lifted her head, a slight movement in the darkened doorway of the bar and grill caught her attention.

Danny stood in the shadows, watching her, a tray balanced on her hip, for only a moment, then she faded into the dark interior.

Lissette finished the water and laid the mug on the table.

Maybe coming back to Bayou Mambaloa wouldn’t be as awful as she’d anticipated.

No longer thirsty, she gave a brief nod at the bar and grill, a little less lonely and a whole lot more hopeful about coming home.