The swamp was usually bursting with life in the spring. Today it seemed to be holding its breath. Waiting. Watching.

Just as Nick was waiting. He had set something in motion last night. Every action produces reaction; every challenge, a response. The thing hadn't ended with Gus sending him home. It had hardly begun.

He guided the pirogue through a channel studded with deadhead cypress stumps, and around the narrow point of an island that would double in size when the spring waters receded. His home sat on the bank two hundred yards west, an Acadian relic that had been poorly updated as modern conveniences became available to the people of rural South Louisiana.

He was remodeling the place himself, a room at a time, restoring its charm and replacing cheap fixes with quality. Mindless manual labor afforded an acceptable outlet for the restlessness he once would have tried to douse with liquor.

He spotted the city cruiser immediately. The car sat near his 4X4. A white uniformed officer stood beside the car with a stocky black man in a sharp suit and tie and an air of self-importance discernible even from a distance. Johnny Earl, the chief of the Bayou Breaux PD.

Nick guided the pirogue in alongside the dock and tied it off.

"Detective Fourcade," Earl said, moving toward the dock, holding his gold shield out ahead of him. "I'm Johnny Earl, chief of police in Bayou Breaux."

"Chief," Nick acknowledged. "What can I do for you?"

"I think you know why we're here, Detective," the chief said. "According to a complaint made this morning by Marcus Renard, you committed a crime last night within the incorporated municipality of Bayou Breaux. Contrary to what Sheriff Noblier seems to think, that's a police matter. I assured DA Pritchett I would see to this myself, even though it pains me to have cause. You're under arrest for the assault of Marcus Renard-and this time it's for real. Cuff him, Tarleton."

Annie took the stairs to the second floor of the courthouse, trying to imagine how she might escape having a private conversation with A.J. If she could slip into the courtroom just as the case against Hypolite Grangnon was called, then skip as soon as she had testified…

She'd had enough confrontations for one day. She hadn't been able to so much as fill her cruiser with gas without getting into it with somebody. But the capper had been getting called to the Bayou Breaux Police Department.

The interview with Johnny Earl had seemed like the longest hour of her life. He had personally taken charge of the case and personally grilled her like a rack of ribs, trying to get her to admit to having arrested Fourcade at the scene of the incident. She stuck to the story the sheriff had force-fed her, telling herself the whole time that it wasn't that far from the truth. She hadn't heard any radio call about a prowler-because there hadn't been one. She hadn't really arrested Fourcade-because no one else in the department would let her.

Earl hadn't swallowed a word of it. He'd been a cop too long. But busting Noblier's chops over the cover-up was only secondary on his agenda. He had Fourcade in custody and would make as much political hay off that as possible. He didn't need her true confession to make the sheriff look bad, and he knew it. In fact, he might have been just as well off without it. This way he could allege the corruption in the sheriff's office was widespread, reaching into all echelons. He could count her as a coconspirator.

Conspiracy, giving a false statement. What's next? To what new low can I aspire? Annie asked herself as she turned down the corridor that led past the old courtrooms. Perjury.

Sooner or later she would be coming to this courthouse to testify against Fourcade.

The hall was clogged with loitering lawyers and social workers and people with vested interests in the cases being heard. The door to Judge Edmonds's courtroom swung open, nearly bowling over a public defender. A.J. stepped into the hall. His gaze immediately homed in on Annie.

"Deputy Broussard, may I see you in my office?" he said.

"B-but the Grangnon trial-"

"Is off. He copped a plea."

"Swell," she said without enthusiasm. "Then I can get back on patrol."

He leaned close. "Don't make me drag you, Annie, and don't think I'm not mad enough to do it."

The secretaries in the outer office of the DA's domain sat up like show dogs as A.J. stormed through, oblivious to their batting eyelashes. He tossed his briefcase into a chair as he entered his own office and slammed the door shut behind Annie.

"Why the hell didn't you call me?" he demanded.

"How the hell could I call you, A.J.?"

"You get in the middle of Fourcade trying to kill Renard, and you don't bother to mention that to me? Jesus, Annie, you could have been hurt!"

"I'm a cop. I could be hurt any day of the week."

"You weren't even on duty!" he ranted, tossing his hands up. "You told me you were going home! How did this happen?"

"A cruel twist of fate," she said bitterly. "I was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"That's not quite how Richard Kudrow put it when he dropped this little bomb on Pritchett this morning. He hailed you as a heroine, the only champion for justice in an otherwise morbidly corrupt department."

"The department is not corrupt," she said, hating the lie. What was a cover-up of police brutality if not corruption?

"Then why wasn't Fourcade in jail this morning? You arrested him, didn't you? Kudrow claims he saw the report, but there's no report on file at the sheriff's department. What's up with that? Did you arrest him or not?"

"And you wonder why I didn't call you," Annie muttered, staring to the left of him. Better to look at his diploma from LSU than to lie to his face. "I can do without this third-degree bullshit, thank you very much."

"I want to know what happened," he said, stepping into her field of vision, wise to all her argument strategies. "I'm concerned about you, Annie. We're friends, right? You're the one who kept saying it last night-we're best friends."

"Oh yeah, best friend," she said sarcastically. "Last night we were best friends. And now you're a DA and I'm a deputy, and you're pissed off because you looked bad in front of your boss this morning. That's it, isn't it?"

"Dammit, Annie, I'm serious!"

"So am I! You tell me that isn't true," she demanded. "You look me in the eye and tell me you're not trying to use our friendship to get information you couldn't get any other way. You look at me and tell me you would have accosted any other deputy in the hall in front of two dozen people and dragged him in here like a child."

A.J. snapped his teeth together as he turned his face away. The disappointment that pressed down on Annie was almost as heavy as the inescapable sense of guilt. Hands clamped on top of her head, she walked past him to the window.

"You don't have any idea what I've fallen into," she murmured, staring out at the parking lot.

"It's simple," he said. The voice of reason, calm and charming as he came up behind her. "If you caught Fourcade breaking the law, then he belongs in jail."

"And I have to testify against him. Rat out another cop -a detective, no less."

"The law is the law."

"Right is right. Wrong is wrong," she said, nodding her head with each beat as she turned to face him once more. "I'm glad life is so easy for you, A.J."

"Don't give me that. You believe in the law as much as I do. That's why you stopped Fourcade last night. It's for the courts to mete out punishment, not Nick Fourcade. And you had damn well better testify against him!"

"Don't threaten me," Annie said quietly. He took a step toward her, already contrite, but she held her hands up and backed away. "Thanks for your compassion, A.J. You're a real friend, all right. I'm so glad I turned to you in my time of need. I'll look forward to getting your subpoena."