Damned (Shaye Archer Series Book 7)

by DeLeon, Jana

  She headed out of the library and around the side of the building, where she eased behind the row of hedges and followed them to the spot with the break in the fence. She pulled the chain link aside and slipped through, then took off across the street, already fuming.

  Hudson Landry had been ignoring her for months. He wasn’t going to ignore her again.

  It didn’t take Shaye long to track down the electricians who’d been working at the church that day. A single call to the company and a quick explanation to the owner about what she was trying to accomplish for her fake client yielded the two men’s names and their job location that day. She’d made the drive across town to an old warehouse in the Upper Ninth Ward that an investor had purchased and was redoing as public housing.

  Shaye’s investigations had taken her to the area before so she was somewhat familiar with it, but she still made sure her nine-millimeter was ready to go before she got out of her SUV and headed into the building. A handful of contractor trucks were out front, so several repair items were being addressed at one time. That was a good thing for her because it meant more people.

  In the entry, she found a man with a sledgehammer knocking out a wall. He stopped when he caught sight of her and pulled off his goggles. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for two guys with Freeman Electrical,” she said.

  He nodded. “They’re upstairs checking the wiring in the attic. Take the staircase up, and the attic access is in the hallway.”

  “Thanks,” she said, and headed up the stairs. The sound of the sledgehammer on the wall started up again. At the top of the stairs, she saw pull-down steps for the attic. Two men’s voices carried out of the opening. She had no way of knowing how long they’d be up there so she climbed up the steps and scanned the attic.

  She spotted the two men about twenty feet to her right, inspecting a set of wiring.

  “This shit is toast,” the one with sandy-blond hair said.

  The other one, a man with dark hair and features, nodded. “It all has to be replaced. He ain’t saving no money on wiring. Not if he wants to pass inspection.”

  “You know he’s going to bitch,” the blond said.

  “So let him,” the one with dark hair said. “I ain’t losing my license to make some rich dude richer. He has to follow the rules like everyone else or he can find someone else to break them for him.”

  “Fine by me,” the blond said, then looked over and caught sight of Shaye. “Can we help you?”

  “I hope so,” she said. “My name is Shaye Archer. I’m a private investigator and wondered if I could have a couple minutes of your time.”

  “Just mine?” the blond asked.

  “Both of you, actually,” she said. “I promise it won’t take long.”

  The blond looked over at the dark-haired man, who shrugged. “Might as well break now anyway and call Pops about this. He’s gonna have to order in a bunch of stuff before we can start rewiring.”

  Shaye backed down the steps and a couple seconds later, the two men descended and stood in the hallway looking at her. They both appeared curious but not remotely nervous.

  “Private investigator, huh?” the blond said. “You spying on a cheating husband or something?”

  “Nothing like that,” she said, and extended her hand.

  The blond shook her hand and nodded. “Mark Phelps.”

  “Jeff Breaux,” the dark-haired man said as he took her hand. “I seen you on TV. You caught that guy selling people.”

  “I helped the police catch him,” Shaye said.

  “They need all the help they can get in this city,” Jeff said. “Place is bad.”

  “So what are you investigating?” Mark asked.

  “Nothing nefarious this time,” she said and smiled, hoping to keep them at ease. She told them the story about her fake client’s missing purse and the bracelet with sentimental value. “Since you guys were working there that day, I thought maybe you saw someone in the cathedral or someone who left there around two that afternoon.”

  “We was chasing a short through the church,” Jeff said. “Finally found it in the choir loft. Didn’t see no woman there, though, so your lady must have already gone. That was probably a bit before two, though.”

  Shaye nodded. “Was anyone else in the cathedral?”

  Jeff frowned and looked over at Mark. “There was a couple guys, maybe one with a kid, but I don’t remember what they looked like or anything. Do you?”

  Mark shook his head. “When I was carrying in wire, I saw that priest in the wheelchair go through, but he went in the door at the back of the church. I talked to Father Malcolm sometime after that in the electrical room. Sorry, but I didn’t pay no attention to the people praying when I walked through, so I can’t help you there.”

  “Did you see which way Father Malcolm came from?” Shaye asked.

  “I think he came down the hallway from the cathedral,” Mark said. “He might have seen someone. Have you talked to him yet?”

  “I haven’t caught him yet but hope to this afternoon. Is there anyone else you can think of? Maybe someone who went down the hall to the confessional? Or to the courtyard exit?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “I guess we’re not much help,” Jeff said.

  “That’s okay,” Shaye said. “My client knew it was a long shot when she hired me but she has to feel like she’s doing something. I appreciate your time.”

  “Good luck,” Mark said, and they headed back up the ladder.

  Shaye went back downstairs and exited the building. She made a note of the men’s names on her phone and figured she’d do a background check on them later. Neither had given her any indication that they were involved in anything but the job they’d been hired to do, but she’d dealt with those skilled in psychological control before. It was frightening how normal they could appear.

  Next up, a visit to Robert Croft.

  She wasn’t looking forward to it.

  12

  A clang on the engine of the car he was working on startled Hudson, but he decided to ignore it. If his uncle was looking for another round of telling Hudson how much he’d fucked up, he wasn’t in the mood to hear it. The conversation with the police hadn’t exactly gone well yesterday, and the conversation with his uncle at home afterward had been even worse. Then his uncle had called his mother and they’d both spent until almost midnight chastising him for what they considered idiotic choices.

  He’d told them that he and Hailey were serious. That she wasn’t like other girls. That she was mature and knew what she wanted. That he wasn’t “leading her astray” as his mother accused him. But neither would hear it. They continued to drone on about his irresponsibility and how he better pray every day that Hailey was found safely, and that when she was, he was never to speak to her again. He wasn’t even to look in her direction.

  Maybe. Maybe when she turned eighteen, he could revisit things.

  They said it like Hailey was going to pop into the garage one day as if she’d been on vacation and everything was all right. But Hudson knew things weren’t right. He figured the police thought she’d run away, and they’d assumed it had been with him. Good thing he lived with his uncle and didn’t leave the house much. He didn’t figure his uncle was a great alibi as far as the police were concerned, but he was pretty sure they didn’t think his uncle would allow him to hide the girl out in his house, especially a minor. No way would someone offer up themselves for that sort of trouble. At least no one in their right mind. And his uncle was a pretty straight shooter.

  The loud clang came again, but still, no one spoke. Now annoyed, Hudson shoved himself out from under the car and looked up at the fuming face of Marcy Long. Jesus H. Christ. Could his life get any worse?

  “What do you want?” he asked, not even bothering to sit up.

  “Is that any way to greet a lady?” Marcy gave him a flirty smile.

  “When I see one, I’ll greet her differently
.”

  The smile disappeared and Hudson got a full view of the nasty side of Marcy that Hailey had always talked about.

  “Don’t pretend to be all innocent with me,” she said. “I know you were messing around with Hailey, and I’m sure her parents didn’t know. But I guess they know now.”

  Hudson clenched his jaw. He didn’t need Marcy the Bitch reminding him of other things he didn’t want to deal with. He’d already spent most of the night worried that something bad had happened to Hailey and trying to think of something, anything, that could help find her. Then he’d worked on convincing himself that she was all right and going to be found safe and sound, so he thought about ways to convince his uncle, his mother, and Hailey’s parents that they were serious and he wasn’t taking advantage of her. So far, he’d come up with absolutely nothing.

  Based on what Hailey had told him about her father, Hudson might be better off just leaving the state and taking on another identity. He wouldn’t put it past the man to press charges, especially if he believed Hudson had anything to do with Hailey’s disappearance. And Hudson would bet money that once her father heard about their relationship, that’s exactly what he would think.

  “I don’t remember inviting you into my business,” he said. “I need to get back to work. Customers aren’t supposed to be in the garage.”

  Marcy gave him an evil smile. “You think you can get rid of me like that? Like I don’t matter? Well, you’re wrong. You’re going to talk to me now and any other time I want you to.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  Hudson frowned. Where was Marcy going with this? She didn’t have anything on him because there wasn’t anything to have. Well, except his relationship with Hailey, but the police already knew about it and he figured they’d inform her parents.

  “I’m pretty sure I can decide who I’ll speak to,” he said.

  She shrugged. “If you don’t want to speak to me that’s fine. Of course, I’m sure the police would be interested to hear about how you keep asking me to have sex with you. And how you pulled me into the back seat of a car one day after the shop was closed and touched me all over before I could get away.”

  Hudson popped upright. “I didn’t do any of that.”

  “Who do you think they will believe? The sweet, innocent minor or the adult with a sketchy past whose girlfriend is missing? I own you. You’re mine until I’m bored. Pick me up tomorrow night at seven at LeBlanc Dress Shop. My parents have a charity thing and there’s a movie I want to see.”

  Hudson felt the sweat form on his forehead and he started to panic. The last thing he needed was to be alone with another teen, especially one of Hailey’s friends. If the police found out, it would look bad. Really, really bad. But if Marcy went to them with her lies, it would look worse.

  Marcy stared down at him, clearly pleased with his discomfort. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Make sure you shower before you pick me up. I hate the smell of grease.”

  She turned around and strolled out of the garage. Hudson took a deep breath and blew it out. What the hell was he going to do now? He couldn’t take Marcy out but he couldn’t afford not to, either. Maybe he should tell his uncle what happened.

  He shook his head. His uncle would never believe him. Who would?

  I swear, she blackmailed me into taking her to the movies because she’s jealous of her missing friend who I really care about.

  Yeah, that sounded convincing.

  He threw the rag he was holding across the shop and cursed. One of the other mechanics glanced over at him, but these weren’t the sort of men who asked questions. What the hell kind of game was Marcy playing? What good did it do to force him to go out with her? He didn’t like her and had made that clear months ago.

  His head started to ache and he rubbed his temples. He was already worried sick about Hailey and now he had this crap to deal with. His mind was already a mess and this situation looked like trouble from every angle with no way out. Silently, he let another string of curse words fly, damning the day he’d laid eyes on Marcy Long and her mother. Then fear gave way to anger and his jaw clenched so hard it hurt. No way was that little bitch getting away with blackmailing him. She thought she had him trapped but she was wrong.

  He was going to do the one thing no one would ever expect him to do.

  Father Nicolas guided his wheelchair into the cathedral. Father Malcolm and Father Bernard were both busy with their church duties as well as some of Nicolas’s, so the apartments were empty. Normally, when he didn’t have duties, Nicolas read in the common living area of the priests’ quarters. The lighting was good and he had purchased a recliner—a luxury—that was particularly easy on his back and hips.

  But since Shaye had admonished him to remain in the company of others as much as possible, he was doing his studying in the cathedral. Even if he’d wanted to, Nicolas doubted he could have sat alone in the living quarters and maintained his sanity. The fear was too great. His vulnerability had always been there but now he’d been made fully aware of the extent. He’d thought he had protection—being a priest, living in the church—but he’d learned the hard way that anyone was a potential target.

  In the middle of the cathedral at the end of a pew, he pushed himself out of the wheelchair and slung his backpack over his shoulder. Using his cane and the back of the pew in front of him, he made his way ten feet or so down, then turned around and dropped onto the seat. The little bit of walking and the stress of the situation had exhausted him more than it should have, but he knew that the lack of decent sleep was starting to affect him.

  And his appetite hadn’t been on point either, something Malcolm had commented on the night before. Normally, he had to carefully watch his portions when Malcolm made enchiladas, but he’d only managed half of his usual consumption. Attempting sleep was even worse. His bedroom, with the one exterior window and no lock on the door, had felt unsafe. Penetrable. He’d fallen asleep easily but had been tormented by his dreams. He couldn’t remember them at all when he awakened but he was covered with sweat, and his mind was so anxious that he knew he’d been restless most of the night.

  Even in the cathedral, every little noise had him flinching and looking around to locate the source. His senses had always been excellent but now they were heightened even more. Every step was the bang of a drum. Every cough was a clap of thunder. It made it almost impossible to concentrate but at least he didn’t have to worry that someone would sneak up on him.

  He glanced around to make sure no one was looking, then removed the text from his backpack that he’d gotten from the library after his conversation with Shaye. It was a book on sociopathy and had a chapter on those who thought God was speaking to them. He opened to the first chapter and started to read. He was well into chapter two when he heard the door to the confessional hallway open and close. He glanced back and saw Father Bernard emerge.

  The senior priest spotted him and paused for a second, frowning, then headed his direction.

  Crap.

  He closed the sociopathy book, then picked up the text on ancient Roman history off the pew next to him and opened it on top of the other text. Father Bernard stopped at the end of the pew where he was sitting, and Nicolas saw him wince when he turned. His limp was slightly more pronounced, and Nicolas wondered if taking on Nicolas’s work as well as his own had taxed the older man. He hoped not. He already had enough to feel guilty about.

  “May I sit for a minute?” Father Bernard asked.

  “Of course. I see you’re favoring your knee a bit more.”

  Bernard entered the pew and sat beside Nicolas. “Yes. I’m afraid I might have twisted it a bit this morning moving some office supplies.”

  “You need to be careful of twisting with that kind of injury. Have you had it checked lately?” Two months prior, Bernard had fallen prey to the many street problems in New Orleans and had stepped on a curb that gave way. He’d taken a tumble into the st
reet but luckily no cars had been passing. His knee had caught the worst of it as it had broken his fall. But a bump on the head, a gimpy knee, and a pair of torn slacks were better than the alternative.

  The senior priest gave him a fatherly smile. “As a matter of fact, I had a checkup this week. My doctor happens to be of the same opinion you are about twisting. I promise I’ve been careful, but I lost my balance and overcompensated. These things happen when you age and refuse to admit you can’t lift a box of copy paper like you could when you were younger.”

  Nicolas nodded. He understood. He wasn’t dealing with aging issues yet, but he often pushed too hard with his therapy and paid for it later.

  Bernard looked him over. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Fine, I suppose.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “This isn’t a casual conversation among strangers. The polite response is not the one I’m looking for. It doesn’t appear as if you’re sleeping well and you’re not eating well, either.”

  Nicolas sighed. “I suppose I meant I’m as fine as I can be given the situation.”

  “But are you?”

  “I’m doing everything I can. I’m praying for hours extra every day. I want this burden lifted, but I can’t seem to get it out of my mind. When I close my eyes, I can picture everything the penitent said. I manage to sleep, but it’s restless and I awaken even more tired than before. During the day, I can focus on my work and my studies, but I can’t force my mind to cooperate when I’m asleep.”

  Bernard gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m not a big fan of medication, but perhaps it’s time to try something along those lines. Or maybe more of Father Malcolm’s tea.”

  Nicolas nodded but he had no intention of taking anything for sleep. The last thing he needed was for something to happen while he was looped out. He was already at a huge physical disadvantage. No way was he adding to it.