by Logan Ryles
Maggie turned back to the window and watched as Reed ducked through the main door of the office suite, vanishing from sight. He walked without a trace of hesitation—a man with nothing to fear, or perhaps, a lot to lose.
The coffee cup clicked against the tabletop, and Maggie took a sip without looking up.
A voice came from the TV set mounted near the ceiling. “. . . we interrupt this program to deliver a breaking news bulletin . . .”
The voice came from the TV set mounted near the ceiling. Maggie watched as replays from the Saint’s last game faded to a newscaster sitting behind a polished desk. She recognized the face immediately as the chief anchor for New Orleans’s most prominent local station.
“In a shocking turn of events for the recent bombing in downtown New Orleans, Chief Richards of the NOPD is now reporting that Governor Maggie Trousdale’s body was not found in the ashes.”
The screen switched again, this time to the swarthy face of Chief Richards standing behind a podium in front of the police department. He was a big man with broad shoulders, eyes that were easy to trust, and a sad face. Maggie knew him well and liked him. He was good at his job.
“Our forensics experts have completed their review of the blast site,” Richards said, his voice a painfully slow drawl, “and have determined that Govenah Trousdale’s body is not among the ashes.”
Camera flashes lit the screen, followed by a peppering of questions from reporters.
Richards held up his hand.
“At this time, no. At this time, we have no evidence that indicates that Govenah Trousdale was killed, and we are now classifying her as a missing person.”
Maggie’s stomach twisted into successively tighter knots. She shifted in her seat and watched as the screen switched back to the anchor. He opined for a moment longer about the situation at the blast site, and Maggie tried to block out his voice.
So this was it, she thought. Gambit would know she was alive, which meant escalated pressure on Reed and an all-out manhunt from the NOPD, the State Police, and the FBI. Everybody would be involved.
They would come for Reed. They would run him into the ground, not stopping, not sleeping until Maggie was found.
Her head told her that it wasn’t her problem—that she could stand up and pull off the cap and scream “Here I am!” anytime she wanted. But somehow, in her soul, she felt guilty, as if she were bringing this down on Reed.
“…state attorneys are still reviewing proper protocol, but the constitution is clear, wherein the governor, the lieutenant governor, and the secretary of state are all rendered incapable of serving in the executive office, the attorney general will assume the governorship.”
Maggie’s head snapped up. What did he just say?
Three faces were on the screen now—the reporter and some pundits, sitting with plastered smiles. She recognized one of the pundits as House Majority Leader Tom Culley, and the realization made her want to wash her hands. Culley was a lot of things, but most of all, he was a politician—a greasy, back-room-dealing, baby-kissing politician.
“Well, James,” Culley said, “let’s not jump to conclusions. There is no reason to believe that Secretary Warner will be incapable or unwilling to assume office. We need to give him time to adjust and prepare a statement.”
Senate Majority Leader Sally Frale broke in. “It’s been more than fifteen hours since Governor Trousdale’s disappearance, Tom. I think Secretary Warner has had ample time to step up to the plate, but he’s not stepping. This state needs leadership. Not this afternoon, not tomorrow. Right now.”
Maggie saw through the smoke of rhetoric and grandstanding. Secretary Warner and Majority Leader Culley shared the same political party, so, of course Culley would defend him. Frale represented the opposition, so it served her interests to make Secretary Warner—wherever the hell he was—the face of her enemy.
But where was Warner? Why hadn’t he assumed office?
Maggie sat bolt upright.
Coulier. How could she have been so blind? Coulier was making a play for the executive office. Didn’t he ask her, just days prior, for the lieutenant governorship? That would have placed him next in line after Maggie’s death.
No. Coulier couldn’t have known about the plot to assassinate her, could he? Was he actually involved with Gambit?
Reed’s words echoed in her mind: “Gambit wouldn’t bring you down unless he controlled your successor.”
There was no way Coulier could be working for Gambit. She picked Coulier herself. How could Gambit have influenced that?
Maybe he didn’t. Not at first, anyway. Maybe he got to Coulier after the fact and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse—a chance to be the most powerful man in the state. Maggie remembered how Coulier had disappeared just prior to asking her to make him lieutenant governor. Then it was Coulier, not her, who thought of the press conference in New Orleans, after which Coulier had inexplicably disappeared again, only to reappear at this last moment to deliver that speech in her car. All that bullshit about bullies
and justice and being a leader.
He went to meet with Gambit. Then he came back to ensure that I took the podium without admitting to anything, because he knew something was going to happen. He knew all along.
Maggie dropped a five-dollar bill on the table. It was time to go. Baton Rouge was no longer safe for her, even if she returned. The only way to reclaim control was to find Gambit.
She hit speed dial on the phone and held it to her ear. Reed answered on the first ring.
“I’ve got it,” he said. “I’m on my way out.”
“Hurry. There’ve been more developments. I think Gambit has an inside man.”
Thirty-Six
Reed slid the phone back into his pocket and hurried down the interior stairwell of the building. Behind him, inside the main offices of BANO, a secretary sat under her desk in petrified silence while her boss remained taped to a chair, an open pair of office scissors lying on the desk next to him.
BANO’s office manager didn’t require much convincing. While the brochures on his desk bragged about the discretion BANO offered their clients, the manager wasn’t about to die for that discretion, and he blurted out the address before Reed could even draw blood with the scissors.
Reed slid through the exterior door and scanned the sidewalk for Maggie. She hurried from across the street, an alarm in her demeanor he hadn’t seen before.
“You found it?”
Reed patted his pocket. “Another address, this one outside of town. A house, I think.”
Maggie motioned down an alleyway leading away from the main street. “Let’s get out of here. Something big is going down. I think my attorney general is involved, now.”
“We’ll talk in the car,” Reed said.
Reed took the lead, hurrying to the end of the alley and taking a right onto the adjoining backstreet. The BMW was parked another block away, hidden in a tiny lot behind a pizzeria. His heart rate quickened as the feeling of impending action—an altogether too familiar sensation—descended over his body.
I’ve got you now, Gambit. And I’m gonna burn you alive.
Reed rounded the next corner, and his entire world collapsed around him. The breath caught in his throat, and he unknowingly slid to a stop.
Banks stood on the opposing sidewalk twenty yards away, waiting for the crosswalk. There were two other women with her, and he recognized one of them as Little Bitch, one of Oliver’s contractors. The other woman wore head-to-toe traditional Muslim dress, obscuring her face from view.
Reed barely processed any of that. Maggie slammed into him from behind, and he stumbled forward another foot, catching Banks’s attention. She looked up, those bright blue eyes shining from across the street, instantly full of recognition, confliction, and pain, but not surprise.
Something between gut-wrenching agony and unbridled longing ripped through him. Cars whistled past, but their gaze didn’t break. For a moment, he stared at her the
way he did that first night in the Atlanta nightclub. He saw past her pain and the exhaustion that hung on her like a cloak, and he saw that fire he first fell in love with. Her nose was inexplicably swollen and purple, but even so, she was as beautiful in that moment as he had ever seen her.
“Reed . . .” Her lips moved, and she stepped forward as the crosswalk cleared.
And then Reed knew that Heaven and Earth wouldn’t be able to stop Banks. She wasn’t here because of her father, and she wasn’t here because of her own anger. She was here because she believed that Reed could be saved, and as long as that door was open, she would never stop forcing her way through.
Reed turned on his heel and slid an arm behind Maggie’s lower back, pulling her close. He kissed her on the mouth, long and slow, holding her as the moments dragged by like years. Maggie stiffened but didn’t immediately recoil.
Reed released her and grabbed her hand, turning away from the crosswalk and hurrying down the sidewalk without a second glance. The two broke into a run, quickly disappearing into the tangle of tourists and business people.
The BMW sat unmolested where Reed had left it. He hit unlock and slid inside, his eyes burning as his stomach continued to convulse. The image of Banks’s pleading face was burned into his mind—so deep and passionate, raw and unshielded, as though he could see into her very soul.
There was something in that look . . . something he couldn’t be sure of. Was it the same thing he felt? Longing? Or did he only see what his heart wanted him to see?
Reed slammed the door, and Maggie settled in beside him. The car was quiet for a moment, and Reed looked out his window, fighting back the grief.
Maggie’s voice was soft and unassuming. “Was that her?”Maggie’s voice was soft and unassuming.
Reed nodded once, not caring that Maggie connected the dots. A single tear slipped past his guard and ran down his cheek. He gritted his teeth and wiped it away, then punched the start button.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t—”
Maggie held up her hand. “I understand.”
Reed put the car into gear, then powered out of the lot and turned out of the city. He focused his mind on the road ahead, but his heart kept interjecting that image of Banks—the way she stood, her hair gently cascading over her shoulders, silent and present, and so damn close.
Yet so far away.
“What now?” Maggie asked.
Reed focused on the road ahead as he fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the scratch paper.
“Do you recognize this address?”
Maggie unfolded the paper and sat up. “It’s in Livingston Parish, right off Lake Maurepas. My god, it’s just a mile from my family cabin.”
Reed opened a bottle of water and drained half of it. “That’s the official root address of ABC Consultants. I had to sift through about four LLCs to find it, but they were all managed by BANO, so it didn’t take long.”
“You think this is Gambit’s headquarters?”
“No, I think it’s probably just a property they own for registration purposes. Maybe a safe house.”
“So, what’s the plan?”
Reed twisted his hand around the wheel. “Before I say, I need to know how committed you are. My plans aren’t usually legal. Or clean.”
Maggie waved him off. “I’m tired of pulling punches. I need this SOB as bad as you do.”
Reed finished the water, then cleared his throat. Before he could speak, the burner phone from Gambit erupted in his pocket. He shot her a sideways glance, then dug it out and hit the answer button.
“Yes?”
“Reed fucking Montgomery.” The anger boiled out of Gambit’s tone like a stream of lava. Reed had never heard him this emotional.
“What’s up, Gambit?”
“You know what’s up! The governor. She’s still alive and missing. Or do you not watch the news?”
“You know you can’t trust the news, Gambit.” Reed kept his voice even. “The governor isn’t dead, and she isn’t missing, either. In fact, she’s right here.”
Reed hit the speaker button, and Maggie leaned toward the phone.
“Hello, pal.”
Pregnant silence filled the car, punctuated only by a short inhale from Gambit.
Reed put the phone back into private mode and lifted it to his ear.
“Here’s the thing, Gambit. I really hate being manipulated. It sets me off in a bad way. Just ask Oliver Enfield. Oh, wait. You can’t.”
Gambit’s voice bubbled with restrained fury. “You think you’re smart, but you’re forgetting something, Montgomery. I still have your old man, and I know where you are.”
“Wrong. You know where some pothead with a backpack is because he’s got your cheap-ass ankle monitor. But I’m not secretive. I’ll tell you exactly where I am. I’m in your blind spot. And that’s a hell of a place for a man like me to be. Are you ready to deal?”
Gambit’s breath whistled again. Reed could feel the panic surging through the phone, but Gambit regained control of his tone.
“I don’t think you’re in a place to deal, Montgomery. David’s mind is very fragile, you know. His psyche is on the edge of complete collapse. I’d hate to go there.”
“So, let’s not go there. Let’s make a trade . . . one prisoner for another.”
“Trousdale is your prisoner?”
“Sure. Didn’t you hear the desperation in her voice?”
Reed knew he was treading on thin ice, but then again, he didn’t leave Gambit with many options.
“What do you have in mind?” Gambit asked.
“There’s a lake west of downtown. Lake Maurepas. We’ll meet on the south bank, in the woods. Don’t bring those damn goons with you. Just bring my father, and I’ll bring the governor.”
“How do I know you won’t bring goons?” Gambit snarled.
“Easy. I don’t need goons.”
Reed decided to push his luck.
“You are in New Orleans, aren’t you? Doing some consulting or something?”
Gambit didn’t respond, but there was a slight catch in his breath. Reed had hit pay dirt.
“I’m a loose cannon, Gambit, with a damn-long range. Take my word for it . . . this is the best offer you’re gonna get.”
“Fine,” Gambit snapped. “South bank of the lake. Ten p.m.”
“Six p.m. I’m not giving you time to deploy an army.”
Reed hung up before Gambit could answer, and he glanced at Maggie.
“Well, Governor, it’s time to get muddy. Are you ready for that?”
Maggie folded her arms. “Been ready my whole life. Let’s get this guy.”
Thirty-Seven
“Where’s Wolfgang?” Lucy asked.
Banks frowned and glanced over her shoulder. The bustling streets of New Orleans surrounded them, crushing in with tourists and locals alike.
“He was just here. Did you see him, Kelly?”
Kelly shook her head, and Banks led the way down the sidewalk, rising on tiptoe to look for Wolfgang. They’d been in the city less than an hour, and already he’d given them the slip again.
She pressed ahead through the crowd, searching the faces of the men for any sign of their uncommitted male associate. Wolfgang was nowhere to be seen, and Banks stopped at an intersection, brushing hair out of her face and shrugging.
“I don’t see him.”
Kelly grumbled something about the worthlessness of the male species, and Banks jammed her hands into her pockets, watching the cars flash past as she waited for the crosswalk to open.
Then she saw Reed.
He caught her gaze from the far side of the intersection as he barreled down the sidewalk toward her. She recognized his form long before she saw his features—tall and broad, with the same iron glint in his eyes that told her Reed Montgomery was yet again at war.
A surge of hope flooded Banks’s heart, and she started to lift one hand, but the glint in his eyes faded, collapsing in spa
rks as their gazes met. A woman was with Reed, dressed in a Saint’s T-shirt with an LSU cap jammed over dirty-blonde hair. She stood next to Reed, her posture braced for flight as she glanced nervously around the intersection. Cars whistled by in the space between Reed and Banks, and all of a sudden, overwhelming longing surged through her.
She wanted to run, to rush between the cars and across the street and throw herself at him, to pull him in and hold him close and find out why the hell he ever left her. The longing intensified when she saw the same feelings reflected back at her. She was certain of it.
The moments dragged by in slow motion before the light changed and the cars squeaked to a halt, leaving the crosswalk open. Banks took one shuddering half step forward, her mind swimming.
And then something hard and unfeeling and painful crossed over his face. He turned away and scooped up the woman, kissing her just like he kissed Banks that first night in the parking garage in Atlanta.
The world collapsed around her. Banks’s half step fell short, and she stumbled into the street as tears spilled down her face. Reed turned and ran without a second glance, towing the woman along with him. Despair crashed in on Banks, ripping through her mind, when she felt strong hands on her arms, pulling her back onto the sidewalk as turning cars rushed by.
Banks’s vision blurred, and Lucy pulled her away from the sidewalk as Kelly broke into a run across the street, sliding between honking horns and pursuing Reed. Banks slid onto a park bench, and Lucy settled down beside her, pulling her close.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” Lucy whispered as Banks began to sob.
“Something’s wrong,” Banks mumbled. “It’s not what it looks like.”
Lucy didn’t reply, but she ran a soft hand through Banks’s hair and rocked her as Banks covered her face with both hands and tried to erase the image of that kiss from her mind.
Kelly and Wolfgang appeared at the same time, ten minutes later. Banks sat on the bench with mascara running down her face, but she wasn’t crying anymore. Lucy sipped on a bottle of water with cold green eyes staring across the street.
