by Stacy Green
“Is Shana Sanders still with her?”
“Layla said she’s gone. She wouldn’t say anything else.”
Bonin stopped the recording. “Where does your sister live?”
43
Cage made the five-minute walk home in four. His knuckles hurt from his grip on the bag.
Right under his nose.
No texts from Dani meant she and the baby still slept, and for once he was grateful they didn’t have a garage. He unlocked his trunk and then his gun box, ensuring his service revolver and his Glock were inside along with plenty of ammunition. He wasn’t raiding a cult, but a cop never had enough bullets.
“Don’t shoot.”
He dropped the loaded magazines. “Goddamnit, Lyric.”
“I know. Sneaking up on people is a special skill.”
“I told you to go home.”
She stared at me. “And?”
“Go home.”
“You’re about to go and get yourself killed after I went through hell saving your ass. I have a vested interest in your survival.” For once, her cocky tone didn’t fool him. She actually cared.
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Bullshit. You’re looking for revenge. I hadn’t counted on that.”
“What did you count on?”
“Cage Foster putting his personal shit aside and doing the right thing to get the bad guy, because that’s what he always does.”
“Things are different.”
“What if you pull this off?” she asked. “You always talk about having to follow stupid rules so the defense attorney doesn’t get the case thrown out. What’s going to happen with this?”
“I’ll figure that out later.”
“I get the need for revenge. I lived with it for a long time, and you know what? He’s dead, and I don’t feel any different.”
“You killed him. I looked the other way. You owe me.”
She laughed. “The alligators killed him. And I did save your life …”
He’d never hear the end of that. “No proof of that since they ate most of him. You might have shot him. Stabbed him.”
“He was alive when they found him.”
“Then I hope he suffered.”
Lyric smiled. “Oh, he did. And I sleep better at night because of it.”
Cage stuffed the ammunition into his pockets. “Go home.”
“I’m not letting you go to that house by yourself.”
He glared at her. “How do you think you’re going to stop me? Your Taser?”
“I’m not going to waste a cartridge on you. They’re expensive. But I will tell your wife. You won’t even get past the neutral ground.”
Lyric didn’t make empty threats. He didn’t want Dani to know, and he didn’t want her calling Bonin or his superiors.
“Let me use the Glock.”
“Not a chance.”
“I can’t back you up without a gun.”
Cage shook his head. “Not up for debate. Let’s go.”
She held up her cell phone. “I have Dani’s number, so don’t plan on dropping me off at home. And I’m driving.”
BONIN
Dark and quiet never bode well for knocking on a suspect’s door, especially with no backup. Bonin wasn’t about to call Cage after what happened earlier today. He was probably passed out from exhaustion.
Bonin stood on tiptoes to look over the wooden gate. No lights on anywhere in the house. She pushed the gate just enough to confirm it was likely padlocked from the inside. No chance of climbing over.
A dog barked down the street. Bonin jumped, banging her knee against the wood. “Laméd.” Fuck. The last twenty-four hours had her on a sharp edge. She slid her hands along the gate until she found the hinges. Rust flecked off on her fingers.
Bonin jogged back to the car and grabbed her crowbar, checking again to make sure no one prowled the area. She edged the crowbar in between the rusting hinge and wood and pulled. Solid. Bonin pulled again, her shoulders on fire. The hinge moved an inch. Breaking it would take all night at this rate.
“Stop.”
She froze, staring at the gun jammed into the space she’d just created. “You don’t want to shoot a cop.”
“Everyone already thinks I did, so what does it matter?” The moonlight gave her blonde hair a pearly glow, a blackened eye glared over the pistol.
“Layla, I just came to talk. I know you didn’t shoot Agent Foster. Your aunt told me everything.”
“She doesn’t know everything.” Panic sliced through her tough tone.
“Then tell me, so I can help you.” Bonin wasn’t a smooth talker like Cage. She said what she thought and meant what she said. Not ideal for talking people off the ledge—or from shooting you.
“It’s too late.”
She tried to soften her voice. “It’s never too late.”
Layla banged her fist against the gate. “Fuck you. They took her from me. I don’t have anything left to lose.”
“Shana.”
“Don’t say her name.”
“We can stop this tonight,” Bonin said. “And you will be free.”
“To go to jail.”
“Not if you testify against your mother. She will go away for a long time.” Especially if she shot Cage like Suzette seemed to think.
“She always lands on her feet. Like a fucking cat.”
“Not this time,” Bonin said. “I’m putting my badge on the line here, but I promise you won’t go to jail if you flip on her. We need you to put her away. This is your chance to finally take control of your life.”
“He tried to kill her.” Layla’s voice cracked. “I saved her.”
“Who tried to kill her?”
“Masen. Worthless piece of trash.”
“Is that why you killed him?” Bonin was pretty sure Layla and Shana’s relationship had been more than friends. “And you left those doubloons in his pocket hoping the police would track her and The PhoeniX down. No other cop in this city would have gone against the London Club, but you lucked out when Agent Foster got involved. He doesn’t quit, Layla. Especially since your mother threatened his wife and daughter.”
“He has a daughter?”
“Emma. She’s almost three. Your mother attacked Ginger Hughes and left a warning for Agent Foster to back off. She showed up today and terrified Emma.”
“But she’s okay?”
“Yes, for now. But she’s in danger until your mother is behind bars. You’re in control here. All you have to do is step up. She won’t be able to hurt you anymore.”
“My mother isn’t the person I’m most afraid of.”
44
Lyric had been right: an overgrown yard and live oaks blocked most of the three-and-a-half-story mansion. The cupola was the only visible part of the house. Cage and Lyric left the car a block down and walked the rest of the way.
“This is the old Creole money part of town,” Lyric said. “A bunch of the homes in the Esplanade Ridge were built to compete with the Uptown wealth.”
“Fascinating. I’m more interested in getting over the fence. Why are you people so obsessed with fancy iron?”
“You’re kidding,” Lyric said. “Iron protects against spirits. But it also shows wealth. The better quality and fancier the design, the more money you had.”
Parts of the iron had rusted, some of the tips jagged. “Yeah, well the gate’s locked, and this thing is tall. I don’t know how—where are you going?”
Lyric slunk past the iron fencing and hopped onto an oak tree’s mammoth roots. “These Gumby-arm limbs have their advantages.”
Cage’s legs locked. His heartbeat shot up, sweat covering his entire body. He struggled to breathe.
“Look at me.” Lyric held the lowest root for balance just as he’d done that day. “This sucks, and it’s probably going to make you remember stuff about the shooting you wished you could forget. But it’s the only way onto the property, so if you want to keep the vigilante thing going,
you have to suck it up.”
She thought panic over dealing with the tree would make him chicken out and call Bonin. He couldn’t see her face, but the challenge stained the air between them.
Cage stepped onto the root. The nerves in his legs jumped, his muscles knotted. His rapid pulse was giving him a headache.
“We don’t have all night, Foster.”
He grabbed the low branch and inched over to Lyric, glaring down at her. “I can do it.”
The hard angles of her face softened just enough for him to glimpse the person she once had been. “I know.”
“Watch out for the moss. Shit’s slippery.” Gracefully and quickly, she climbed to the branch that stretched over the fence and shimmied across, disappearing in the overgrown foliage.
Cage forced air into his lungs and followed, his long legs easily skimming over the branches and onto the ground.
Lyric yanked a spider’s web off her jacket. “I hate spiders. Do you see it? Where is it?”
Fatigue dragged Cage to his knees. He picked a sliver of web off her shoulder. “You’re actually afraid of something?”
“I said hate. I did not say anything about being afraid.”
He wiped his face on his sleeve, and they crept through waist-high weeds until the lower level of the house appeared. A balcony wrapped around each level; dozens of arched windows provided plenty of opportunity for the two of them to get caught. The mold-covered top was the only visible part of the greenhouse in the back courtyard.
“No lights on.”
Cage took out his gun and moved closer, searching for a way inside. Breaking a window made too much noise.
“Where’re you going?” Lyric whispered. “Just use the front door.”
“I don’t have anything to pick the lock.”
She pulled a slim plastic pouch from the inside of her jacket. “I do.”
She darted to the front entrance and ran up the long, stone staircase. Cage trailed behind, his stamina waning with every step—fifteen total. He leaned against the granite railing and caught his breath. They’d left the moonlight on the other side of the massive house.
“We’re on the dark side of the moon,” he said. “Get it?”
Lyric was already at the front door, tool in hand. “That is so lame I’m going to pretend you didn’t say it. Voilà.”
Cage had a pretty good idea how Lyric survived on her own for so long. He blocked the doorway with his arm. “Get behind me.”
“Give me a gun.”
“No.” He opened the heavy door far enough to squeeze through. They’d entered into a foyer blanketed in darkness.
His eyes watered at the heady smell of urine and filth.
“Smells like the bums in the heat of summer, with a heavy dose of urine,” Lyric whispered.
Deandra had to be keeping someone locked up in this place.
Lyric nudged his elbow. “We need to split up. Cover more ground.”
“No.”
He shuffled across the dirty marble floor and tried to get his bearings. Dust-covered furniture filled the big front room to his right.
A black hallway emerged to his left. He took a few steps, and the smell got worse. “I think it might be coming from down there.”
No answer.
Goddamnit, Lyric. He didn’t need to turn around to know she’d slipped away to do whatever she wanted. Why did he think she would listen to him? If Lyric got herself killed tonight, Annabeth would never forgive him.
Keep moving forward.
Panic ticked higher with every step down the hall. His eyes stung with sweat. He tried not to think about the tunnel, of seeing himself dying. He passed locked doors on both sides, all framed with intricate millwork that hadn’t been cared for.
Is that a light?
A faint light glowed at the end of the hall, mocking him. Cage swallowed his fear and kept moving. Gun at the ready, he closed in on the light. The smell had grown so strong he tasted vomit.
The light came from the last room on the right. Cage stopped just before the doorway, trying to breathe silently. He double-checked no one had followed him and then peeked inside.
His hands trembled with rage.
A white-haired slip of a woman lay curled in the bed, her sunken eyes open, glazed and unfocused. Her sallow skin and hollowed cheeks made her look like a corpse.
Was she dead?
“Who’s there?”
He jumped at the sound of her frail voice. It had the hoarseness of someone who hadn’t spoken in a while.
“I heard you coming all the way down the hall.”
“I’m a friend of Deandra’s.” He stepped inside the room, checking the dark corners. Empty, save for an armoire in the corner and the old television sitting on top of it. A bedside table was covered in rotted food and flies.
“She brought me water today. She won’t be back.” A soft cry made her skeletal body tremble. “Suzette won’t see me, either. I don’t understand why they don’t want to spend time with me.”
“Lily?” Suzette and Deandra were related? Sisters?
“Yes, dear?”
“You’re Josefa’s daughter.” Lily had to be close to ninety. “And Philip Redmund’s.”
Her feeble chin jutted out. “We don’t talk about him.”
“I’m sorry.” He waved his hand in front of her face.
“I can feel that. Yes, I’m blind.”
No wonder she heard him walking. She was also emaciated and lying in a soiled adult diaper that needed to be changed days ago.
How could Deandra do this to her own mother? Didn’t she know how lucky she was to still have her?
Cage cleared his throat. “Who’s taking care of you?”
“I have a nurse. Sweetest little thing. Her grandpa knew my mother, and my mother knew his mother. Poor thing fell down the stairs and died.”
Pops and JoJo.
“Did your mother ever tell you about Dotty Jean?”
Her wide smile showed missing teeth. “You know the story? Well of course you do, if you’re a friend of Deandra’s. Mother never forgave herself for letting him see Dotty die.”
Because your father pushed her. Talk about a tangled web. The whole thing made Cage’s head spin. “Where’s your nurse now? Where’s Shana?”
Tears shined in her opaque eyes. “She stopped coming.”
“When?”
“Dear, I can’t see. I have a hard time marking the days when someone doesn’t tell me. Has Fat Tuesday come yet? She was here before that. She gave me king cake. Do you know where she is?”
“I’m trying to find her. That’s why I need to speak with Deandra.”
“She’s already been—” Lily held up her finger. “Why, that’s her coming now. How strange for her to come back.”
Cage had just enough time to spin around and raise his gun before Deandra could shoot him a second time.
“In the back again, coward?” He imagined the bullet shredding her forehead, her lifeless body crumpling to the ground. She deserved it for leaving her mother like this.
“Not this time.” She pointed a .22 at his chest. “Your little freakshow friend stole my favorite gun. This one will do the job.”
“Not if I shoot you first.”
“What’s going on?” Lily’s voice turned shrill. “Why are you talking about shooting?”
“Mother, be quiet.”
“You callous bitch,” Cage said. “How could you do this to her?”
“I didn’t have a choice. Layla never should have brought that girl into our lives. She turned my girl soft and funny—thinking she was a lesbian.”
“That has nothing to do with your mother—”
“It has everything to do with it,” Deandra spat. “Everything was fine until that trash Masen confronted Layla. We brought him to The Black Sheep, gave him a job and a place to stay to keep an eye on him. Then he found out the girl I’d brought over to take care of Mother was the one this Masen was yapping about and said she had
to go, just like you and that other friend of Layla’s.”
She wasn’t talking about Masen. “Who said she had to go?”
“I can’t blame him,” Deandra said. “Our best dealer is in jail because of you.”
Spider.
The fentanyl in Masen’s system. Deandra’s pinpoint pupils. “Who’s running the show, Deandra?” Had she gotten Masen hooked on fentanyl?
She stepped forward, her gun level with his. “You’ll never know.”
Deandra’s body suddenly convulsed, her arms flailing. Her hard-lined face contorted. Cage snatched the .22 and knocked her to the floor. She twitched twice and then howled.
“What’s going on?” Lily had somehow sat up a few inches. “Is Deandra all right?”
“She’ll be fine.” Lyric stood in the doorway, Taser still in her hand. “Twice in one day. That’s got to hurt. Saved your life again, Foster.”
“Where the hell did you go?”
“You’re welcome, asshole. I told you we should split up. Guess what I found?”
“A metric fuck-ton of fentanyl.”
“No, but Annabeth’s wearing off on you.” She looked back into the dark hall. “It’s okay. He’s a good guy.”
Feet shuffled toward the door.
“You’ve come back,” Lily said. “Why did you stay away so long?”
Shana Sanders limped around Lyric. She had a black eye and busted lip that looked like it had been healing for a few days. From the way she held her side, she likely had broken ribs.
“Miss Lily.” Shana’s voice shook. “You’re a fine mess. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
45
“I found her locked up in a shithole room on the second floor,” Lyric said. “I don’t know the whole story, but I’m guessing it’s a doozy. Poor damned girl.”
Shana had turned on the lights and found hygiene supplies in the armoire. She tried to clean Lily, but she trembled too much to make much progress. Lyric had bound Deandra’s hands with zip ties from her bag. Cage didn’t want to know what else Lyric carried in that thing.
“We need to get them out of here. Call an ambulance.”
