by Jana DeLeon
Jackson struggled to keep the disgusted look off his face. They weren’t likely to get a call unless no one else was available or Vincent downed a case of energy drinks and a bucketful of courage. The man apparently intended to spend the rest of his career cruising into retirement, and if he had his way, Jackson would be sitting in the passenger’s seat, snoozing along.
At 10:00 a.m., the drive across the French Quarter was a fairly easy one. He located a parking spot half a block away from the café he was looking for and headed up the street. It was a tiny place, maybe fifteen tables total, and had a surprising amount of natural light from front and side windows. At a table in the back corner, Shaye was easy to spot. There were only two other patrons, an elderly couple sitting near the front. Otherwise, the place was empty.
Shaye was watching as he came in, and he gave her a nod and headed for her table. As he slid into the chair across from her, he noticed the huge coffee cup with a single packet of artificial sweetener in front of him.
“Black, right?” Shaye asked.
He poured the sweetener into the cup and stirred. “Good memory.”
“It’s not a difficult order.”
“No, but most people wouldn’t have noticed.”
“I’m not most people.”
“Touché.” He knew Shaye wasn’t most people. He wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, but only a few minutes of exposure to the young PI had fascinated him. Had him wondering what made someone like Shaye Archer tick. When he’d gotten back to the police station, he’d pulled out his personal cell phone and searched the Internet for information on her. He’d expected to find a Facebook page full of pictures with college girlfriends and family. He’d been shocked when the first five pages were full of news articles about Shaye and her missing past.
He’d spent two hours reading through the stories and finally risked searching police records, even though he knew if Vincent caught him, he’d crawl all the way up his ass to Alaska. If Vincent never heard the name Shaye Archer again, it would probably be too soon. Jackson doubted his so-called superior officer had made the connection between Shaye and the girl Detective Beaumont had pulled off the street years ago, even though he was working at the precinct at that time. But then these days, Vincent didn’t seem to notice much besides the clock hitting five.
If the news articles had been disturbing, the police reports had been downright horrifying. Even now, sitting across from her, he marveled that she could sit there so normal, so sane.
So beautiful.
He took a drink of his coffee. Where the hell had that come from?
“You said you wanted to talk,” he said, forcing all thoughts of anything but business out of his mind.
Shaye nodded. “A couple of things have happened. Emma isn’t interested in being mocked again, but you said to call if I got something.”
“Definitely. What’s going on?”
Shaye told him about Emma’s car trouble and the returned scarf.
“Do you think the skater could identify the man?” he asked.
Shaye opened her phone and showed Jackson a picture of David Grange. “I tracked him down and showed him this photo. Obviously, the man who had the scarf wasn’t David, but the skater said it looked enough like him that they could be related.”
Jackson blew out a breath. “Which supports Emma’s insane claim that she saw her husband in her house. With only moonlight, looking through that tiny hole in the wall, and terrified, I can see why that’s the first thing she thought.”
“That’s not all. Yesterday, I met her at the house to have a look around.” Shaye pulled a card out of her purse and slid it across the table. “He left this on her front steps while we were inside. It’s a birthday card—one that she’d thrown away.”
Jackson stared. “In broad daylight?”
“Yeah.”
Jackson pulled out the card and saw the inscription “Happy Birthday, my darling. David.”
He slipped the card back into the envelope and looked at Shaye. Her expression reflected everything he was thinking—this was bad. Whoever was after Emma Frederick was crafty and cruel, and seemed to have no fear of discovery. The more unpredictable, the more dangerous.
“I assume Ms. Frederick is staying somewhere else?” he asked.
“She’s been staying in a hotel since the night he broke into her house. Given that he found her at the shop in Bywater, I had her change hotels yesterday. She probably burned a tank of gas driving around before checking in, just to make sure no one was following her.” Shaye tapped her fingers on the table. “He’s not going to stop. Not until she’s dead.”
“I know.”
“Is there anything you can do about it?”
He knew the question was coming. Had known it since he’d heard about the car battery and the scarf. “Not officially. Not until there’s some sort of threat.”
He didn’t blame Shaye for the disgusted look she gave him. At the moment, he felt the same way.
Shaye shook her head. “You and I both know that everything I just told you is a threat. Hell, he’s coming right out and telling Emma he can get to her any time he wants to.”
“The law doesn’t see it that way, and even if we could convince other people that everything Emma says is the gospel, we have no idea who this person is. We can’t arrest a shadow.” He blew out a breath. “How much do you know about David Grange?”
“Very little. I tried the usual Internet searches, but it returned sixteen thousand matches. I went through a couple hundred pages before giving up. The images were the same.”
He nodded. “We checked for a criminal record when Emma filed her report on the assault and it came up clean. I imagine a person like Grange would keep a low profile. I wouldn’t expect to find him posting selfies on Twitter or anything.”
“I didn’t really have an expectation that I’d find anything, but I had to try.”
Jackson ran one hand through his hair and blew out a breath. “Look, there’s nothing I can do in a professional capacity…not on the record, anyway. But let me see if I can run down anything on David Grange—brothers, cousins.”
“That’s my plan for the day. I’ve got a meeting with his former boss in an hour, but if you can find out something, I won’t turn down the help.”
“It’s a long shot, but I’ll give it a whirl. I might not be able to get to it until this evening, though. If Vincent catches me helping you, he’ll have me demoted.”
“For helping a woman being stalked?”
“For helping someone without hard evidence, especially the woman who cut him off at the knees and got him razzed by rookies for an hour.”
She gave him a rueful look. “At least that’s something. So he’s really that big of a douche bag?”
“And then some. He’s been looking for a way to take me down a peg ever since they assigned me to him. So far, he’s managed to submarine my career through inactivity. If I gave him a reason to cause me more grief, he would take it in a heartbeat.”
“Why don’t you complain to his superior?”
“I’m the new guy. Maybe when I’ve been there a couple years, and if my nose is clean, someone will listen. But right now, the old guys see me as a new face that probably won’t last long. A lot of guys do a turn in New Orleans, then move on to the suburbs for less stress and a higher paycheck.”
Shaye frowned. “I owe you an apology.”
“How do you figure?”
“I’ve been judging you unfairly. My mother is a social worker, so I hear all about the politics of government work. I wasn’t extrapolating that same set of nonsense to police work. It was shortsighted of me.”
“The politics are the most frustrating part of my job.”
“My mother’s as well, and that’s saying a lot in both cases given what you do. Anyway, I appreciate any information you can provide, but I don’t want you to risk your job or your reputation in doing it.”
“There’s way more at stake than my job
.”
Shaye’s expression darkened. “Yeah.”
“Remember when I told you to be careful? I’m telling you again. I’d bet anything he saw you at Ms. Frederick’s house. If he thinks you’re in the way…”
“I had a cover…interior decorator, complete with sample books. But I’m being careful. I’m always careful.”
He nodded, but her assertion didn’t do anything to lessen the nagging dread that was starting to consume him. Given her past, Shaye Archer was probably one of the most careful women in New Orleans. But she still wasn’t any match for a psychopath.
Especially an unknown one.
Chapter Ten
Emma rushed across the hospital parking lot to the entrance. She’d parked in the visitor area, and if anyone had a problem with it, they could kiss her ass. If someone insisted she park in the garage with the other employees, she’d give them her two minutes’ notice. She’d been struggling with the decision all morning at the hotel. She’d had room service for breakfast and lunch, too scared to leave her room, all the time dreading going to work because the hospital was the easiest place to find her.
When she entered the hospital, she headed straight for the security office and was relieved to see Jeremy watching the monitors. He looked up as she entered and smiled. “Afternoon, Ms. Frederick. You get your car looked at?”
“Yes. I wanted to thank you again for getting it running. I took it to the mechanic yesterday.”
“They get you back to a hundred percent?”
“Yes, but that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. The mechanic said there was practically no chance the terminal came off accidentally.”
Jeremy frowned. “He thinks it was deliberate? But who would do that?”
“I’ve been having some trouble since David…anyway, I think someone’s following me, trying to scare me.”
Jeremy straightened in his seat, clearly concerned. “If someone’s bothering you, then you need to go to the police.”
“I have, and there’s nothing they can do. There’s been no threat, and I have no idea who it is. But I’m not interested in becoming a victim in order for them to have a clue.”
“Of course not!”
“Anyway, all of this is to say that I parked in the visitor’s section in front of the building, so please don’t have me towed.”
Jeremy nodded. “And don’t you go walking out to that car without me.”
“I won’t. Thank you.”
“Be careful, Ms. Frederick.”
Emma nodded and headed out of the security office. She was so preoccupied that when she rounded the corner into the hallway, she almost ran right into a bouquet of flowers.
“Oh,” she said as she drew up short, then took a step back. “I’m so sorry.”
“That’s okay,” a voice said, and the flowers lowered.
A man’s face emerged and his eyes widened. “Emma?”
She slowed her racing mind long enough to focus on the man with the flowers. “Stephen. It’s been a long time.”
She’d dated Stephen for three years of high school. He was the only child of one of New Orleans’s “good” families and had a bright future ahead of him following in his father’s footsteps as a lawyer. He was good-looking, popular, and intelligent, but he’d been more invested in their relationship than Emma. When she got word of her college scholarship in Dallas, Stephen had begged her to stay, even said he’d marry her, which probably would have sent his highbrow parents over the edge. But aside from knowing she wasn’t remotely ready to be a wife, Emma also wasn’t convinced that Stephen was “the one.”
The breakup had been heart-wrenching. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him and had been surprised with how badly he’d taken her rejection of the marriage proposal, but over the summer, his feelings cooled and they were on decent terms when she left for school. He even helped her pack her car. They’d stayed in touch by email for six months or so, then as most college students do, they got involved in their campus lives, and communication got less frequent until it finally stopped altogether.
“When did you move back?” he asked.
“About a year ago.”
“You look great,” he said with a huge smile. “But then, you always did.”
“Thanks. So do you.” And he did. He’d put on some bulk since high school, and his long wavy locks were darker and military short, but he still had the chiseled face and wide grin.
“Do you work here?” he asked. “Wow. That’s a stupid question given that you’re wearing a badge.”
“I’m a critical care nurse.”
“Wow. That’s a tough area.”
“It is, but it’s also very rewarding. I considered working for a specialist—weekday office hours and a regular schedule were tempting—but ultimately, I felt trauma was my calling.”
“I bet you’re great at it. You were always the calm in the middle of a storm.” His smile vanished and he shuffled in place. “I heard about…you know. I’m really sorry, Emma. I can’t imagine how horrible all that has been for you.”
“Thank you. It’s been…something. I don’t know that I can even describe it.”
“If there’s anything I can do, please let me know. I know we haven’t been in touch for a while, but I’m always there for you. We should get together for lunch or dinner and catch up—whatever works for your schedule.”
“That would be great.”
He put the flowers down and pulled a card out from his wallet and handed it to her. “Business hours you can reach me at the firm. My cell number’s on the bottom.”
Emma took the card and slipped it into her pocket. “Thank you. I’ll give you a call as soon as I catch a break.”
“It was good seeing you again,” he said, and gave her arm a squeeze.
“You too. I have to run or I’ll be late for my shift.”
She gave him a wave and hurried down the hall to clock in.
It had been nice seeing Stephen again—a smiling face from her past. She’d been gone for so long that most of her old friends had moved. A couple still remained, but they were knee-deep in baby diapers, a completely different place in life than Emma. Maybe when all of this was over, she’d take Stephen up on that offer for a meal and conversation. Right now, she wasn’t about to take the chance of bringing someone else into her circle. She was already worried about Shaye. She didn’t need another person on her conscience.
###
Shaye walked down the hallway of Wellman Oil and Gas and knocked on the door at the end of the hall. The nameplate on the door read “Richard LeDoux—Operations Manager.”
“Come in,” a deep voice yelled from inside.
Shaye opened the door and stepped inside. The man behind the desk waved at her as he yelled at someone on the phone. He was a big guy—muscles clearly visible beneath his polo shirt with the oil company logo on it—and younger than Shaye had expected. She’d figured that the man yelling behind the door would be midfifties. To have this position so young, Mr. LeDoux was either born into the right family or had serious skills. Since his last name wasn’t Wellman, she was going with the latter.
“That’s not negotiable,” he said and slammed the phone down. He looked up at Shaye and waved her to the chair across the desk from him. “Please sit. I’m sorry for the language. No, that’s not true. I’m not really sorry as the jackass deserved every word I said, but I apologize that you had to hear it.”
“That’s all right. I’ve had a word or two for jackasses in my day.”
He smiled. “Kindred spirits then. What can I do for you, Ms. Archer? Greta said you needed some information on a former employee? You don’t look like a cop or one of those hard-ons from an insurance company.”
“I’m neither.” She pulled out a business card and passed it to him.
His eyebrows went up. “PI? You look like you should still be in college. You must be one of those annoying overachievers.”
“I suppose you would know.”
He stared for a moment, then laughed. “Yeah, I guess I would. So what can I do you for, Shaye Archer, Private Investigator?”
“I wanted to know what you could tell me about David Grange.”
“Well, he used to work here and now he’s dead.”
“I know the highlights. I’m working for his wife.”
Richard frowned. “I didn’t think the state was pressing charges, given the circumstances and all. That’s what they said on the news, anyway.”
“There are no charges against my client for David’s death. She hired me because she’s being stalked, and the stalker is leaving her mementos related to David.”
“Seriously? Man, that is screwed up.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I can tell you aside from his job description and pay range. There were several levels of management between us, so aside from a brief conversation the day he interviewed, I never really talked to him.”
“Would you be willing to check his personnel file and see if he listed any next of kin other than Emma?”
“Sure. If you think it will help.”
“I honestly don’t know, but I’m checking everything I can. Would it be all right if I spoke to the employees who worked with him?”
Richard reached for his keyboard and started typing. “You’ll want to talk to Charlie Evans. The assistants work in pairs, so if anyone knows something about David, it will probably be Charlie.” He stopped typing and looked at the screen. “And it looks like you’re in luck. Charlie’s crew just got back from offshore.”
He grabbed his phone. “Hey, send Charlie Evans to the conference room. There’s someone who needs to speak to him.” He hung up and rose from his chair. “I hope it’s okay if I set you up in the conference room. I would stick around but I have a meeting with the owners in ten minutes.”
“That’s no problem at all.”
Richard opened his office door and she followed him back up the hall to the first room on the right. He flipped on the light and waved her inside. “I’ll have Greta check that personnel file for you. If you need to talk to anyone else, let her know and she’ll run them down if they’re here, give you contact information for them if they’re not.”
