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A few moments later Jacque sank back down in his chair, his thoughts racing. Was it possible George was the man they sought? He was swamp, not town, but Jacque could be wrong in guessing the killer was somebody prominent in town.

He knew George had initially been a suspect in Mystique’s murder case. George had dated Angelique, and Mystique hadn’t thought the gator-hunter was good enough for her daughter, voicing her thoughts directly to George.

Even though Angelique had stopped seeing George long before her mother’s murder, was it possible George had held a grudge…a murderous grudge that resulted in slitting Mystique’s throat? Had he believed Mystique was the reason Angelique had broken up with him?

Was it really possible that beneath his benign, easygoing ways, George was the monster? Had he killed Mystique and beaten Monique? And was the monster now looking for a way in to get at Monique once again?

Chapter Seven

Monique awakened to the sound of a soft rain pattering against the window. She slowly sat up, grateful that her pain was a little less intense than it had been the day before. Her ribs still hurt terribly, but the pain felt more manageable at the moment.

She gazed out the nearby window where the skies were gray with heavy clouds. She wondered if it was supposed to rain all day, not that it mattered to her. She certainly had no place to go.

However, she would like to get a shower today. As long as it wasn’t lightning, she could shower in the rain. But how awkward was that going to be? Her cheeks flushed with warmth as she thought of being naked with Jacque so nearby.

Of course, she knew he’d be respectful, and her shower would go off without a hitch. Besides, despite her intense physical attraction to Jacque, she wasn’t interested in any kind of relationship with him except his friendship, and of course, his protection for now.

She put on the same clothes as the day before, hoping to get out of them after her shower. As with the day before, she sneaked into the bathroom to wash her teeth and brush her hair. Minutes later she left the bedroom and stepped into the living area where she saw him seated at the table with a cup of coffee in front of him.

For a moment he didn’t seem to hear her approach. His focus was directed out the nearby window. She took the moment to study him. He was such a handsome man and seemed to be so unaware of his own attractiveness.

Why had he chosen this solitary life for himself? Why wasn’t an intelligent, handsome man like him married? What in his life had stolen his smiles? His laughter and joy?

She must have made a noise for his head suddenly swiveled around to look at her. “Good morning,” she said.

“Good morning,” he replied. “You sneaked up on me.” He started to get up from the table, but she waved him back down.

“I can get my own coffee. All you need to do is point me to the cabinet with the cups.”

“On the right side of the sink.”

She opened the cabinet and pulled down one of the coffee mugs. She poured herself a cup and added a teaspoon of sugar from the sugar bowl on the counter. She then carried her cup to the table and sat across from him.

“I didn’t know it was supposed to rain this morning,” she said as she wrapped her fingers around the warmth of her mug.

“According to the weather report, it’s going to be like this all day long,” he replied.

“I hate gray, rainy days,” she said. “It’s like the whole world is frowning.”

“Just think about how good the rain is for the trees and plants,” he countered.

“Oh, I know rain is good, I just wish it would rain only at night and then the sun would be bright by morning,” she replied.

He cast her a half grin. “When you’re in charge of the world, you can make that happen.”

“Ha, if I was in charge of the world, there would be a lot more important things for me to take care of than when it rained,” she replied.

“You’re obviously feeling a bit better this morning. You look a little better except for that colorful bruise on your chin,” he said.

She reached up and touched the sore spot. “I just wish I could have delivered a one-two punch back, but I never got the chance. As far as how I’m feeling, yesterday I felt like I’d been run over by a semitruck. Today I feel like I’ve been run over by a small car.”

“That’s progress,” he replied. “Maybe by tomorrow you’ll just feel like you were run over by a skateboard.”

“One can only hope,” she replied.

“I was thinking of making some pancakes for breakfast. How does that sound?”

“Sounds delicious. Just tell me what I can do to help.”