Murky Waters

CHAPTER TWO

The drive home that afternoon was the same as the drive in.

Claire merged onto the interstate and came to a complete stop.

Fortunately, she had been wise in choosing her apartment. She was only on the busy interstate for a few miles. Upon reaching her exit, she would go one mile before arriving at her complex.

She smiled and leaned back in her seat. The day had gone well, despite the rocky start with Tristan. With the exception of the tall, dark, and lovely woman, everyone had been kind and made her feel welcome. And it was a bonus to work with Mike and Lauren again; they were good agents, and she knew she could depend on them.

The terrain was not all that different from Houston, just on a much smaller scale. Baton Rouge seemed like a quaint sleepy little town and was just what she needed at this point in her life. She looked forward to having time to explore the new area in which she now lived. Perhaps if Tristan would get her underwear out of a wad, she might make a decent tour guide.

Claire parked in her designated spot, gathered her things, and made her way up the stairs to her second-story apartment. She was reluctant to leave Houston, but the cost of living was significantly cheaper in Baton Rouge, which had afforded her one of the nicest places she had ever lived. Walking into her two-bedroom apartment, she breathed a sigh of relief. She was home.

Dinner consisted of a pork chop, salad, and a huge glass of white wine. After which, Claire started her laundry and took the bottle of wine into the bath with her. She was bent on relaxing and forgetting the stresses of her first day on the job. She sank down in the warm water and read the latest edition of her favorite 24

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magazine. Two glasses of wine later, Claire emerged, feeling relaxed and refreshed.

One of the things Claire loved most about her new abode was the spiral staircase in the corner of the living room that led to a small loft. With its skylight, the loft would be the perfect place to put her potted plants. Ivy would be placed close to the ornate wrought iron railing, so the long vines could hang down over the living room.

Had her mother still been alive, she would have loved Claire’s apartment. Claire sighed and wondered if things would have been different for her if her mom were still around. She missed having her to console her when life got tough. Mom always made everything right, but now, she was on her own and had to stand on her own two feet.

“First things first,” she muttered and went into the spare room that would become her office. This was the last of her things to be sorted and put away. She took a healthy gulp of wine and began to tackle the piles of papers and folders occupying her desk.

Claire had positioned the desk to face the big bay window that graced her makeshift office. She sat briefly in her chair and stared out the large window at the oaks that the apartments had been built around. She appreciated that the builders had the forethought to leave the majestic trees.

After her home computer was set up, she went about arranging things in her little sanctuary. This would be the only room in which she would smoke. She tried to avoid having the rest of her home smelling like cigarettes, and this room would accommodate her vice.

She opened her window a bit and turned on the overhead fan.

Leaning back in her chair, she propped up her feet, lit her cig, and basked in the fact that she had finally gotten the room the way she wanted it. With everything squared away in here, she could put her mind on other things. She opened the right-hand drawer and took out a large brown envelope. Claire took another sip of wine and stared at the package. This was one thing that she hoped stayed back in Houston and would not come to haunt her here.

She sat for a long time contemplating opening the envelope.

After putting out her cigarette, she lit another and refilled her wine glass. She took a stress-relieving breath and opened the envelope.

Slowly, she withdrew the pictures inside. The first few were of her 25

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getting out of her Cherokee and going into her old office in Houston. Others were of her and friends having dinner in a restaurant. There were even a few of her doing such mundane things as grocery shopping and picking out a movie at the video store.

Claire felt cold chills run up her spine, making her shiver. She never knew who the person was who took such an interest in her life. It was extremely unsettling to know that someone made it a point to follow her around capturing her on film. What she found even more disturbing were the intimate photos taken of her through her open windows while she was at home. For the first six months, she received only photos. But when one was taken of her kissing a date good night, the letters began, each one accusing her of being a slut. It made Claire ill to look at them.

She had suspected her ex-girlfriend Lisa of sending them at first.

The breakup between the two had been tumultuous. When Claire confronted Lisa with the pictures and letters, Lisa begged her to take them to the police. She still remembered the shocked look on Lisa’s face and her trembling hands as she looked at each photo and letter. Her persistent pleas for her to go to the police made Claire strike her from the list of possible suspects.

She never did involve the police, leery of the scandal it would cause to have them question everyone she came in contact with.

She had reasoned that the letters were really not threatening, and by moving away, she might escape her stalker. It was a decision she hoped was right.

With all the lights on in the room where Claire worked, she was unable to see the dark figure who stood across the parking lot hidden in a cluster of oak trees. The stranger watched Claire’s every move with interest through the telephoto lens of the camera, randomly clicking the shutter. Only when Claire turned off the lights and left the room did the stranger lower the camera and leave the safety of the well-chosen hiding place.

Later, as Claire lay in bed waiting for sleep to claim her, she found herself wondering about Tristan. She had no problem admitting to herself that she found the dark-haired woman attractive, even though she was an asshole. Unfortunately, she couldn’t resign herself to simply enjoying the visual attributes of 26

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the obnoxious woman she wanted to know more of. ”Maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment,” she muttered to herself.

She wondered if Tristan were taken. She was one of the prettiest women Claire had ever laid eyes on. “She’s probably got a girlfriend who looks like a supermodel, or worse, one who could beat me to a pulp,” Claire mused. Tristan’s hand in hers earlier that day was her last fleeting memory as she drifted off to sleep.

The alarm went off much too early for Claire’s liking. She slapped the snooze button a few times before she finally crawled out of bed. As she showered, she wondered what the day might hold for her. She was actually looking forward to going on a tour with Tristan.

After getting dressed, Claire looked at her reflection in the full-length bedroom mirror. She was pleased with the hair and makeup, but she thought the steel-toed boots were a little butch. At least they were brown and matched her purse. She tucked her new Valor shirt into her jeans and was off to face the day.

Once Claire was on the road, she relaxed and sipped her coffee while enjoying the first cigarette of the day. She merged into traffic on I-10 and came to a complete stop. Normally, traffic pissed her off and reduced her to a blithering idiot by the time she reached her destination. This morning, however, the traffic allowed her to relax and mentally prepare herself for what lay ahead. She was undeniably nervous about spending an entire day with Tristan alone, unsure if she were simply anxious about making a good impression on a new client or if it were her attraction to the striking woman. She checked her makeup in the rearview mirror, knowing it was the latter.

After arriving at the office, she made a pit stop at the galley and got herself another coffee and made her way to Tristan’s office.

The crew coordinators were already there when Claire arrived. She took the time to chat with them and did her best to remember their names. Claire noticed that Tristan had her back to the room while she worked on her computer.

Claire poked her head in the office to let Tristan know she had arrived. “Good morning, Tristan. I just wanted to let you know that I’m ready when you are.”

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Tristan turned to look at her and stared for a moment before saying, “Good morning, couillon.” All four of the crew coordinators burst into a fit of laughter.

“What is so funny, and what does couillon mean?” Claire could feel anger creeping up the back of her neck, sensing she had been made the butt of a joke. The raucous laughter dropped to snickers.

All the crew coordinators looked to Tristan to explain. Claire stepped through the doorway and stared daggers at Tristan. “What does it mean, Miss Delacroix?” Claire demanded angrily.

“It’s a Cajun French word that means foolish or funny person,”

Tristan replied with a smirk.

Claire slammed the door to Tristan’s office hard enough to make the walls shake. “I may not know a thing about the Cajun language, but I assure you I am not a fool! I’m not so sure you can say the same.”

Tristan’s face turned cold, but her voice remained low. “Let me remind you, Miss Murray, I am still the customer, and you work for me. Furthermore, there was nothing degrading or malicious meant by what I said.”

“Well, Ms. Delacroix, although I do work at the company that provides a service for yours, that does not mean I am any less human than you are. I would appreciate it if you would lay off busting my chops every time I come in contact with you. And furthermore ...” Claire fought the urge to grin as she threw the word back at Tristan, “if you think being referred to as a foolish or funny person in front of a roomful of people is not degrading, you have a really warped sense of humor.”

Tristan stood slowly and walked around her desk to stand face-to-face with Claire. “I have to go to the warehouse and get our hardhats.” She handed Claire two life jackets. “Meet me in the back of the building; my truck is the red Ford F-150.”

Tristan had switched gears, knocking Claire off kilter. Claire stood there blinking for a moment before she took the life jackets from her. Tristan turned and walked out of the office, leaving Claire to stare at her, once again dumbfounded. To top it off, Claire could not help but notice how nice Tristan’s butt looked in her jeans, and that pissed her off even more.

Claire found Tristan’s truck unlocked. Even better, she had left her keys in the ignition. Claire reached over and started the engine 28

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and cranked the air up as high as it would go. The oppressive summer heat was already making its presence known. In addition, she had been drinking hot coffee all morning, which made her sweat, adding to her ire. Truth be known, her blood pressure was up a few notches, as well, and she had an overwhelming desire to slap the shit out of the condescending Ms. Delacroix.

Claire stood just outside the open door of the truck to smoke and take advantage of the cool air coming from the cab. “Get in; you can smoke in the truck.” Startled, Claire gave Tristan a quick look and flicked out the cigarette, determined not to follow any orders she didn’t have to. She got in, put on her seat belt, and waited for Tristan to pull out of the parking lot before beginning her verbal assault.

“What the hell is your problem with me, Tristan? We’ve only known each other one day, and you have managed to insult me twice. I understand you and Rhonda had some problems in your working relationship, but that’s no reason to take it out on me!

You haven’t even given me a chance!”

Tristan glanced from the road to Claire. “You’re right.”

Again, Tristan had thrown Claire off with her unexpected response. For a moment, Claire was left speechless, and when it looked as though Tristan wasn’t going to say anything more, Claire’s anger ignited again. Claire played the card she thought would get a response out of Tristan, hoping to really piss her off.

“You can turn this truck around now, Tristan Delacroix, and take me back to the office. I plan to go to Mr. Hughes and tell him no one in my position will be able to work for his company effectively because you, Tristan, are not willing to work with us!”

Claire internally debated if it were a wise move to play that card when Tristan pulled the truck safely off the road, took off her seat belt, and turned to face her. “Yesterday, when I brought you the shirt, I was trying to make peace. My behavior has been very unprofessional. I was frustrated with Rhonda, and you bore the brunt of that. Actually, I’m very happy that she has been replaced and am looking forward to working with you. I am truly sorry we started out this way, and I know it’s my fault. Incidentally, my dad used to call me couillon when I was a kid. It was a nickname. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

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Claire sat and stared dumbfounded at Tristan for a long time. She was still angry and wanted the difficult woman to rant and scream at her. What she got was an obvious heartfelt apology, and that made her even more angry. “Apology accepted” was all she could muster as she chewed her lip, trying to quell the tirade that had been building since she laid eyes on Tristan that morning.

Tristan pulled the truck back onto the road, and after a mile or two, she lit up a cigarette. “You’re welcome to smoke in my truck.

All I ask is that you flick the ashes out the window. I don’t like to use the ashtray.”

Claire pulled out a cigarette, but before she could locate her lighter, Tristan reached over and lit the cigarette for her. They rode in silence all the way to the fleet, neither knowing what to say. By the time they had made it to their destination, all the anger had dissipated, making things between them seem even more awkward.

Tristan navigated the truck up the steep levee, and when it crested the hill, Claire got her first glimpse of the Valor fleet. Not knowing what to expect, she was a little surprised when the landing barge came into view and she noticed an entire office complex had been erected on top of it. She spied the familiar Valor logo on the smokestack of the vessel tied off to the landing barge.

“The office on the very top with all the windows is the fleet dispatcher’s office. They dispatch the fleet vessels that build together barge tows that go out with our vessels,” Tristan explained in detail, hating the idea of leaving the cool truck and venturing out into the heat. “We have a crew stationed here that strips and cleans the barges before they are taken to the refineries or chemical plants to be loaded. Mail and supplies are kept on the bottom floor to be picked up by the boats when they pass through here.”

Tristan was the first out of the truck. She walked around to the passenger side and handed Claire a life vest. She put on her own jacket first, hoping Claire would mimic her actions. Claire wrestled with the straps and, within minutes, had the life jacket looking like a bear had mauled it.

Tristan fought the urge to snicker as she stood watching in amusement. “Would you like some help with that?”

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Claire surrendered the mess she had made, looking a little sheepish. It took Tristan a few minutes to unscramble the straps, after which, she held up the jacket and had Claire slip her arms through it. When Claire turned around to face her, Tristan hesitated a moment, reluctant to fasten the closure over Claire’s well-defined breasts. From her vantage point, Tristan could see Claire’s cleavage, and the sight made her hands shake as she fastened the closure.

“Now, Claire, I am not trying to scare you when I tell you this.

Should you go overboard, there are some things you should remember, the first of which is not to panic. Blow the whistle attached to the vest and try to avoid getting between the barges.”

Claire stood wide-eyed and speechless as she stared down at the churning water below the catwalk and wondered why she had agreed to this. “Tristan, I’m having second thoughts about this.”

“You have nothing to worry about, Claire. I’ll be by your side. I just thought it was necessary to explain this to you. I’ve been going out on these boats for years and have never fallen over. I just want you to know what to do should anything happen.”

Claire swallowed hard and nodded her head. Tristan presented her with a hardhat containing a mass of straps even more confusing than the life vest. “We are supposed to wear these when we are on the landing barge and also when we are on the barges that the boat pushes. I kind of fudge on the landing barge rule because I hate to get hat hair. So if you agree to keep my secret, I won’t make you wear yours. Do we have a deal?” Claire quickly agreed.

They began to descend the levee toward the catwalk that would take them across a small portion of the turbulent Mississippi River to the landing barge. Before they could make it across the walk, Tristan stopped dead in her tracks. She turned with an embarrassed smile, finding Claire taking baby steps and looking down at the water. “Do you see that guy taking a piss off the side of the boat over there?”

“Oh, Dear Lord in Heaven, yes! Aggghh, that’s just plain nasty!

Don’t they have toilets on the boats?”

Tristan laughed for a long time before she could respond. “Yes, they do, but some guys just don’t want to take the time. It’s easier to go off the side of the boat. The reason I brought your attention 31

Murky Waters

to his raunchy little display is because he is the engineer for that boat. The engineers do most of the cooking, so when they invite us to lunch, be sure to lie and say you’re not hungry.”

They continued down the catwalk to the landing barge and went directly to the fleet office. Slightly winded from climbing the stairs, Claire entered the fleet office behind Tristan, blinking her eyes to adjust to the darker room.

She heard a deep voice call out to Tristan in a heavy Cajun accent. “Del a crow! Where you been, girl? I’ve been down here for two days, and you just now come to see me. I cooked your favorite food yesterday, hoping you would smell it and show up.”

“Hey, Sam, it’s good to see you. I’m sorry I missed you yesterday. Hughes had me attending meetings with a bunch of suit types. I would have much rather been down here, trust me.”

Tristan hugged him as she spoke.

Sam wiggled his eyebrows. “Did you wear a dress? Was it sexy?

Indulge an old man who spends far too much time on an old towboat.”

“No, you little pervert.” Tristan laughed. “I wore that same old suit I always wear to bullshit like that. Now behave, I have someone I want you to meet.”

Witnessing yet another side of Tristan’s personality, Claire watched with interest as her tour guide interacted with a fellow employee and friend. The bright smile that spread across her was warm and genuine. Claire silently hoped that she would be the cause of such a smile one day.

Claire took full advantage of the moment and studied Tristan from head to toe. The long dark ponytail protruding from the baseball cap beckoned Claire to run her fingers through its silkiness. Her tour guide was indeed a sight to behold standing before her in a snug pair of jeans accompanied by a pair of work boots. The short-sleeved denim shirt revealed a pair of tanned muscular arms. She marveled at how different Tristan looked from the day before in the office dressed in her business attire. She was not sure which look was sexier.

Tristan stepped aside and let Sam get a view of Claire, clearing her throat when she noticed Claire seemed to be in another world.

He wiped his calloused hands off on his pants and held one out for 32

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Claire to shake. He looked at her like she was a lamb chop until Tristan gave him a small slap to the back of the head.

Claire studied him, as well, and wondered if all Cajuns were short but changed her mind when she glanced at Tristan. The captain stood a little over five feet tall. Aside from his hair that was in serious need of a barber, he looked professional in his khaki uniform.

“Claire, this is Sam. He is the captain of the Sarah Ann, which is the boat tied off to the landing barge. He started out as a deckhand before I was born and now is one of our senior captains.” The old man puffed out his chest with pride as Tristan described his accomplishments.

After the introductions were made, Sam offered to show Claire around his boat. The captain was genuinely delighted to be the one to escort the pretty blonde. Typical of the Louisiana summer, the heat was already becoming intense. Tristan watched intently as sweat beads broke out on Claire’s lip as she was led from bow to stern. Tristan shook her head to clear the carnal thoughts that crept into her mind as she watched Claire’s body react to the heat.

Sam took pleasure in showing Claire the outer decks of the vessel, seemingly unaffected by the rising temperature. It wasn’t until he glanced at the now profusely sweating blonde that he realized he should continue the remainder of the tour below deck.

Another set of eyes watched both of them as they descended the stairs. He waited for the pair to get out of earshot before he keyed his hand-held radio and spoke.

“Here’s the stats. She’s about five-foot-seven. I figure she weighs about a hundred and thirty pounds. She’s built like a brick shithouse! Tits and ass for days! Blonde hair, and I think the eyes are brown.”

“Actually, they’re hazel,” Tristan interrupted.

The informer turned slowly to face Tristan. His eyes opened wide, mouth agape. He began to stutter an explanation as Tristan’s dark eyes bore into him. At five-foot-eight, she towered over the short man.

Tristan’s voice was low and calm as she spoke. “Do you think it’s appropriate to announce the physical characteristics of a vessel visitor over the radio to the entire crew? Furthermore, do you think it’s wise to tell a group of men who have been on a boat for thirty 33

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days that they have a woman built like a brick shithouse wandering the boat?”

He began to stammer. Tristan raised her hand to stop his babbling. “Don’t try to explain yourself. However, while our visitor remains on board, I expect you and the rest of the crew to be gentlemen. Now, get back on that radio and tell them what I have just told you.”

She watched as the crewman delivered her message. When she was satisfied they all understood, she went below deck to find Claire and Sam. Occasionally, she would glance over her shoulder to see a deckhand pretend to be hard at work. She could not help but giggle as she mentally agreed with the crewman. Claire was indeed built like a brick shithouse.

As Tristan descended the stairs, she decided that she would not allow Claire to get out of her sight again while touring the boat.

The men had always paid her respect because of her position, and more importantly, they had known her father. She was a little concerned that Claire might not get the same treatment.

As she expected, Sam was showing off the captain’s quarters to his captive audience. He was proudly pointing out all the state-of-the-art equipment that his wife had gotten him for Christmas, which included a DVD player, a seventeen-inch TV, and a stereo, complete with a CD player. Tristan smirked as she thought his wife had no idea how many hours Sam would spend watching porn on her gifts.

When Claire looked as though she would pass out from sheer boredom, Tristan interrupted. “Sam, Claire and I have to get back on the road. We have a schedule to keep today.”

Sam looked disappointed. “Come on, Tris, you have to have lunch with us.”

Claire shot a nervous glance Tristan’s way. The memory of the man doing the cooking and relieving himself off the side of the boat was still fresh in her mind. Tristan smiled and gave her a small nod.

“All right, Tris, I will let you off the hook for lunch, but y’all have to come see the wheelhouse.”

“The wheelhouse?” Claire asked curiously.

“Yeah, that’s where I drive the boat from. It’s the best place on the boat besides my quarters. Hey! I learned a new song on the old 34

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guitar; you gotta hear it. We can run up there now, and I can play it for you.”

Tristan spoke up. “I’ll make a deal with you, Sam. We will go see the wheelhouse, but you have to promise not to play the guitar, or worse, sing.”

Sam pretended to be heartbroken. “Oh, Tris, you cut me deep on that one.”

“You little liar,” Tristan snorted.

Claire watched in fascination and amusement as Tristan bantered back and forth with the old captain. Tristan was so unlike the woman Claire met the previous day; her behavior was the complete opposite.

Sam took the long way to the wheelhouse. He took them through the huge engine room, where the sound was nearly deafening. All the while, he pointed out things and gave explanations of what they were and their purpose. Claire watched his mouth move but did not have a clue what he was saying. To her relief, they left the noisy room and went through a maze of hallways. She looked into the open bunkrooms as she passed. They reminded her of tiny dorm rooms.

Claire glared over her shoulder at Tristan as she was made to climb another two flights of stairs. Tristan simply smiled and shrugged. They passed through another door, and Claire found herself in a room resembling a miniature airport control tower.

The wheelhouse was on the very top deck, and surrounded by glass, it afforded the wheelman a bird’s-eye view of the barge tow before him. Claire marveled at the bank of electronic equipment and fought the urge to push every button she could get her hands on. Sam insisted that Claire sit in the captain’s chair while he showed off his gadgets.

Tristan made herself comfortable on a small bench and watched Claire with great interest as Sam allowed her to push a few buttons. Claire resembled a child on Christmas morning, grinning from ear to ear, waiting for Sam to let her play with all the toys.

Claire was obviously enjoying herself and was not satisfied until she had explored every corner of the wheelhouse.

Tristan remembered the first time her dad took her out to one of the boats. For a ten-year-old, it was an adventure in Wonderland.

Her dad stayed close to her side, knowing the dangers surrounding 35

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such vessels. Her fondest memory of that trip was the tour of the wheelhouse. At thirty-eight years old, she could still remember clearly the face of the old silver-haired captain who hoisted her up into the captain’s chair. Time spent with her dad on the boats was the most peaceful and happy time of her childhood. Watching Claire’s enthusiasm for something that had always been so special made her feel that same peaceful feeling that died with her dad.

Claire and Sam had become fast friends. She sat patiently as he played his guitar and sang a couple of his own songs. She even managed to keep a straight face when Tristan pretended to jump overboard behind his back. It took a little work, but Tristan finally managed to drag Claire from the wheelhouse and back on dry ground.

Tristan listened amused at Claire’s excited chatter. She had many questions about life on the river that Tristan answered patiently.

“Life on the river is similar to being on land. The boat stores function as little post offices. Boat personnel can pick up and send mail there. They shop at some of them for personal items. Their groceries and fuel are delivered by fleet boats that also pick up their trash. It’s a world unto itself out here.”

After climbing back up the levee, both women were relieved when they made it to the truck. Fortunately, the A/C cooled the cab shortly after they had gotten back on the road. Claire blotted her face with a tissue, trying to retain some of the makeup she had put on that morning, but the heat and humidity had done a number on her hair. No two hairs pointed in the same direction.

“How do you feel about pizza for lunch?” Tristan asked as she sped down River Road.

“Sounds heavenly to me. An iced tea would hit the spot, too.”

Claire was parched from being out in the heat. The diesel fumes on the boat were overwhelming and nauseated her a bit, and iced tea was exactly what she needed.

“Great, I will take you to my most favorite pizza place in the whole world. You have to understand, though. I only take my friends to this place, so we will have to get to know each other first. I will tell you about myself, then I will tell you what I know about you already. What do ya say?”

“Umm ... okay, I guess,” Claire answered a little perplexed.

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“I’m thirty-eight years old, not married, and no children, except for an orange tabby cat known as Ralph. My hobbies are anything to do with the water, camping, and believe it or not, gardening.

I’m a neat freak, which is probably why I’m still single. My favorite food is pizza. So there, now you know me.

“Now, let me tell you what I know about you. You are also a neat freak. You’re not married and have no children. Your hobby is shopping. I suppose you’re around thirty-five, and you’re a lesbian.”

Claire sat listening to what Tristan had to say with a smirk on her face until she got to the lesbian part. Her smirk disappeared, and her jaw gaped open.

“Why on earth would you assume that about me?”

Tristan laughed. “What?”

“That I’m gay.”

“I saw the gay pride flag on your sunglass case. I assume you do know that it’s not just a pretty rainbow.”

Claire was floored. She sat speechless. Tristan laughed so hard she had to pull off the road. “Oh, Claire, don’t be upset. I didn’t mean to make you mad, but your face was priceless.”

“I’m not mad. I just didn’t expect that at all. Don’t sit there looking all smug, either. I found out about you my first day.”

“Don’t tell me; let me guess. It was Ellen. She always feels the need to pass that little tidbit along to anyone who crosses her path.

Quite frankly, I think she’s curious about what she is missing out on. She’s a sweet person, and I think she means well, but she sure is fascinated with my sex life.”

“You certainly have a unique way of breaking the ice with someone, Tristan Delacroix,” Claire said with mock indignation.

Tristan pulled the truck back onto the roadway and headed for her favorite pizza place. Both women were more at ease and began to talk candidly. They both came to realize that they enjoyed being in the other’s company.

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