"Espèces de tête dure," he grumbled, rolling his eyes.
"Yes, I am," she said, never slowing her stride. "Hardheadedness is one of my better qualities."
Baldwin and his followers hadn't wasted any time. The tall "For Sale or Lease" sign that had stood propped in the front window of the station had been replaced with one that read "End Sin. Find the True Path." The door to the garage was open, and a stage had been hastily built across its mouth, giving Jimmy Lee a dark, dramatic background for his ranting and pacing routine.
His followers had gathered on the cracked concrete outside, crowding together despite the heat. Many of the women pressed toward the stage for a closer look at him, their faces glowing with sunburn and adulation. And Jimmy Lee stood above them all, drenched in sweat and glory, his hair slicked back and his caps gleaming white in the late afternoon sun. He stalked across the stage, his white shirt soaked through, his tie jerked loose, pleading with his followers to march valiantly on beneath the weight of their respective crosses, urging them to lighten his load by donating to keep the ministry going.
"I will fight on, brothers and sisters! No matter how Satan may try to smite me down, no matter the obstacles in my path, no matter if I have nothing with which to fight my battle except my faith!" He let his declaration ring in the air for a few seconds, then sighed dramatically and stood with shoulders drooping. "But I don't want to fight this battle alone. I need your help, the help of the faithful, of the brave, of the devout. Sad as I am to admit it, we live in a world ruled by the almighty dollar. The ministry of the True Path cannot continue to bring the good news to untold thousands of believers each week without money. And without the ministry, I am powerless. Alone, I am only a man. With you behind me, I am an army!"
While the faithful and the devout applauded Baldwin's acting skills, Laurel skirted around the edge of the mob. She watched them with a mix of anger and pity-anger because they were gullible enough to listen to a charlatan like Baldwin, and pity for the very same reason. They needed something to believe in. She didn't begrudge them that. But that they had chosen to believe in a perverted con man made her want to knock their heads together.
She didn't see the cameras until it was too late. Her gaze caught first on the van parked alongside the garage. It bore the call letters of the Lafayette cable television station that was home to Baldwin 's weekly show. Then her eye caught one of the video cameras that was capturing the spectacle for the home audience. By then she was nearly at the front of the throng, and Baldwin had already spotted her.
His gaze, luminous gold and glowing with the light of fanaticism, flashed on her like a spotlight, and he broke off in midsentence. The anticipation level of the crowd rose with each passing second of his silence. The cheap sound system underscored it all with a low, buzzing hum.
Laurel froze, her heart picking up a beat as both the cameraman and Jimmy Lee moved toward her. She could feel the cyclops eye of the camera zooming in on her, could feel the heat of Baldwin 's gaze, could feel the additional weight of a hundred pairs of eyes as one by one the crowd turned toward her. She braced herself and drew in a slow, deep breath.
"Miz Laurel Chandler," he said softly. "A woman of intelligence and deep convictions. A good woman drawn in by deception to battle on the side of Satan."
Gasps and murmurs ran through the crowd. The woman standing closest to Laurel stepped back with a protective hand to her bosom.
"I don't think Judge Monahan will be too pleased with the comparison," Laurel said archly, crossing her arms. "But you're probably amused, being an expert at drawing in good people by means of deception, yourself."
Those close enough to hear her began to grumble and boo. Baldwin cut them off with a motion of his hand. "Condemn not, believers!" he shouted. "Christ himself, in his infinite wisdom, preached forgiveness for those who would hurt you. He has counseled me in matters of forgiveness-"
"Has He counseled you in matters of the law?" Laurel queried. "Do you have any right to be on this property, holding this assembly?"
Something ugly flashed in Baldwin 's eyes. He didn't like her interrupting his divinely inspired lines. Tough shit, Jimmy Lee.
"We have every right, lost sister," he said tightly. "We have legal rights, granted by man. We have moral rights, granted by God Himself, to gather in this humble setting and-"
"Appropriate setting," Jack drawled. He stepped around Laurel to lean indolently against the edge of Jimmy Lee's stage, the stringer of fish still swinging from his fist. "You always did give me gas, Jimmy Lee."
He was near enough that the mike picked up the last of his words, and people at the back of the crowd, who had come only out of curiosity, burst out laughing.
Jimmy Lee's face flushed a dark blood red beneath his artificial tan. His mouth quivered a little as he fought to keep from sneering at the man who was leaning lazily against his platform. Damn Jack Boudreaux. Damn Laurel Chandler. She was the troublemaker, the little bitch. Boudreaux only came along sniffing after her. But as much as he wanted to drag out all the dirt on Laurel Chandler, Jimmy Lee kept himself in check. His followers wouldn't tolerate an attack on a woman of her standing. Boudreaux, on the other hand, was a whole different breed of cat.
He smiled inwardly, a feral, vicious smile. "Do I indeed, Mr. Boudreaux?" he asked. "Shall I tell you what your books do for me? They sicken and disgust me, as they do any good Christian. The content is vile, brutal, a celebration of evil and an instruction manual in the ways of Satan. Or are you here to tell us you've given up that path of wickedness?"
A slow grin spread across Jack's face. He plopped his fish down on Jimmy Lee's wingtips, sending him scooting backward, and hopped onto the stage to sit with his legs swinging over the edge. "Well, hell, Jimmy Lee, that's sort of like askin' you if you've quit stealin' people's money. The way the question is phrased, denial is an admission of guilt. Having been an attorney in a previous incarnation, I know better than to answer." He tipped his head and treated Baldwin to a merciless, wicked grin so hard and sharp, it could have cut glass. "Me, I'm just amazed to hear you know how to read."
Another volley of laughter sounded at the back of the crowd and rippled forward. Jimmy Lee clenched his jaw against a stream of profanity. His fist tightened around his microphone while he indulged himself in the fantasy that it was Boudreaux's windpipe he was crushing.
"Evil is no laughing matter," he said sternly. He turned his gaze back out across the small sea of faces that had gathered to hear him and pointed hard at Jack. "Do we want our children growing up on the kind of twisted and depraved tales this man tells? Tales of murder and mutilation and horrors that should surely be beyond the imaginings of decent people!"
"Hey, Jack!" Leonce called out from near the dusty old gas pumps. "What's the name o' dat book?"
"Evil Illusions!" Jack called, laughing. "On sale everywhere for five ninety-nine!"
"And he laughs and makes money off this filth!" Jimmy Lee shouted to the devout above the laughter of the others. "What other sins might a sick mind like that commit? We hear every day about crimes against women and children in this country. Our own Acadiana is being terrorized by an animal who stalks and murders our women. And where do creatures like that get their ideas for their crimes?"
The grin vanished from Jack's face. He met Baldwin 's gaze evenly, never breaking the stare as he rose to his feet and closed the distance between them, booting the fish aside. Hostility rolled off him in hot waves.
"You better watch your mouth, preacher," he growled, gently pushing Baldwin 's microphone aside. "You never know what kind of revenge a sick mind like mine might come up with."
Jimmy Lee savored the small victory of striking a nerve, meeting Jack's hard stare with a smugness that came from having the safety of a crowd around him. "I'm not afraid of you, Boudreaux."