In Hot Water. Mary Baxter Lynn

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      Satterwhite took his time unfurling his gangly frame to full height. Bastard, Maci thought. He was in his element, lording his control over them. Maci fought the urge to lash out at him, to ask him if he knew who he was toying with.

      After all, everyone knew the Ramsey name carried weight in this town. While that hadn’t always been the case, it was now. Her husband was no longer thought of as the downtrodden boy who had defied the odds and made good, but rather as a renowned surgeon. He’d built a stellar reputation in the medical community throughout the entire state of Louisiana. And here in his hometown of Dayton he’d used his wealth and power to the greater good.

      Seymour wouldn’t tolerate this method of treatment. But that was before he’d been accused of causing his patient’s death, Maci reminded herself. A negligent homicide charge could relegate him to the bottom of the scum barrel in a heartbeat.

      “That can be arranged,” Satterwhite said at last, coming from behind his desk. “Follow me.”

      When they walked into the room where Seymour was held, Detective Johnson acknowledged their presence, then left. The chief followed shortly, leaving Maci and Keefe alone with Seymour.

      For a moment, a thick, heavy silence prevailed.

      “Are you all right?” Maci asked in an unsteady voice.

      “I will be, when I get the hell out of here.” Seymour’s eyes darted to Keefe. “I’m assuming you can do that.”

      Keefe blew out a long breath. “I can’t until morning.”

      Seymour swore.

      “Keefe’s doing all he can, Seymour,” Maci pointed out in a calm, soothing tone, hoping to defuse the volatile situation.

      “Then it’s not good enough,” Seymour shot back.

      Another awkward silence fell over the room. Maci bit down on her lower lip and looked at Seymour. He appeared tired and drawn, yet restless and hyper. Control was what fed him, what made him the man he was, and now that he wasn’t in control, Maci knew he’d be jittery.

      Or was he simply acting like a common street junkie who was in the throes of coming off a drug high?

      Maci’s stomach hated the path her mind had taken, but she couldn’t avoid the hard cold facts, not when they were being rubbed in her face.

      Her husband was a drug addict, and according to the law he was accused of homicide.

      “Satterwhite is not someone we…you want to tangle with right now,” Keefe said. “You have to know that.”

      “I refuse to stay in this stinking hole overnight.”

      Maci crossed to her husband and touched him on the arm. “Don’t do this to yourself. Spending one night—”

      He shook off her hand. “I’m not some common criminal, and I resent the hell out of being treated like one.”

      “They are accusing you of homicide, Seymour,” Keefe said in a low, even tone. “What do you have to say about that?”

      “Dodson’s death was not my fault.”

      Maci eyes widened.

      Seymour’s smile was humorless. “See, my own wife doesn’t believe me.”

      “That’s not true,” Maci snapped, feeling her face flush. “If you tell me you’re not responsible—” Her voice faltered, and she cleared her throat.