Delaney sat in the rubble of the garden on a bench, a droop to his broad shoulders that could have been exhaustion, discouragement or both.
“I take it you still haven’t found anything?” Mickey handed him one of the glasses of water he’d gotten from the still speechless Louise. Judging by the glare in her eyes, they were lucky she was speechless.
The misery in Delaney’s eyes as he emptied the glass in one long gulp made Mickey shift uncomfortably. And to wonder if his eyes were acquiring the same emotion. Attraction to the Seymour women, dead or alive, was an exercise in masochism.
“There’s not a body here.” Delaney rubbed his unshaven chin. “I don’t know what Boudreaux saw that night. Or where it is. But it ain’t here.”
“Captain arrived with our relief. We get four hours off, then he w
