My eyes widen as I stare at him. Jamie’s solid as a rock—he’s got more integrity than twenty average cops put together. And I can see the frustration lingering in his eyes. Something stinks. And it’s not my drinking buddy.
It’s New Orleans. Police brass are shorter on integrity than beat cops. By a lot.
“Let me guess.” My voice lowers. “So what did Shayla use on the lieutenant—bribery, blackmail, or booty?”
“Maybe a combination,” Jamie mutters, and takes a long swallow of his beer.
My jaw clenches. I’ve used the cops and gone through legal channels as much as I possibly can since leaving the bootlegging business. But now, it looks like “legal channels” care more about money than the law. Time to take things into my own hands.
“We can still build a case against Shayla. She’s probably only going to be free a few more days. The trial’s set for Thursday on her other charges.” He almost sounds apologetic.
“Look, man,” I break in quietly, “I know you’re doing what you can. Don’t overextend yourself. But if you can give me any preliminary information you were able to gather, I’ll hire Molly to deal with it.”
Molly Haggard is a private investigator I’ve used several times. She’s the one that was watching Mary for me when Mary suddenly drove off for the pier with Jenny. If she hadn’t warned me, Jenny wouldn’t be alive, and Jamie knows it. She’s back in Humboldt, but I can fly her out if needed.
He looks almost relieved. “Okay. This will take a little time, but I’ll get you what I have.”
At least the protection order is done, I think as I drive back home. Emmeline has mostly been staying over at my place. I’ve helped her unpack all her things over at hers, but as soon as my daughter is fast asleep, Emmeline is in my house and in my bed.
Jenny likes breakfasts with Emmeline. The two of them always fill my breakfast nook with bright chatter as I cook. We’ve had peace for a few precious days, each one starting with kisses and coffee and ending with me pinning Emmeline to whatever wall or stretch of floor or piece of furniture we haven’t christened yet.
I consider it a point of pride that now that Emmeline’s had a taste of real pleasure, she’s always chasing it. She does it all the time, flirting with me shyly during evening cartoons. Her soft, almost sleepy gaze promises wild fucking and tenderness at the same time.
I’m falling in love with this girl, and it feels great—except for one thing. I’m about to deliver some of the worst news of her life to her, and I feel like absolute dog shit about it.
When I walk in the door, I have to stop and just ... look. Emmeline’s curled up on the couch napping with Jenny, who is nestled against her with her puppy in her arms. I look for a moment longer, and then smile and take a few pictures on my phone.
I’ll tell her later. And meanwhile, I’ll take care of this.
I go straight to my office, shut the door, and call Molly. She picks up on the third ring. “Carl. Hey, how’s it going?”
“Not so good.” I explain the situation in brief, hearing her type away and occasionally grunt acknowledgment as she takes notes on her laptop.
“You’re right. It seems pretty suspect that ‘someone’ made almost every investigation involving the Lacroix family just go away. I’m actually surprised that she didn’t make the other charges vanish too.”
“Kind of hard to do with a dash cam recording and two bruised cops,” I point out, and she grunts again.
“So you’re waiting on information from Jamie?”
“I actually got it by email on my way home. I’ll forward it. He didn’t get very far in his investigation before they shut it down, but the bombing last year has a fifty-page long file.” I flip my laptop open, check my mail and start forwarding the relevant files. “With that much information they should at least have a suspect, but I couldn’t find one.”
“Okay, I’ll start going through what we do have. Any insights on where to start other than skimming through this thing?”
“I have a photograph of a man who tried to con his way into Emmeline’s house the same week that this all came to a head. He claimed to be from the diocese. I got clear shots of him and even one of his rental car’s license plate.”
“So start with rental car agencies.” She puffs thoughtfully. “I’ll see if I can draw a connection between him and any of the rest of this.”
“Okay. I’ll send you everything. As soon as you notice any patterns or suspicious details, let me know.” I take a deep breath, closing my eyes. “I’ll wire your usual retainer.”
“Thanks kindly, big guy. I’ll call you back soon.” The connection breaks and I sit back in my chair, eyes narrowing.
“So this is what we know so far,” I tell Emmeline as I hold her hands later that night. Jenny is up in her room playing with her puppy while pretending to be asleep. I’m letting her get away with it for now.
“Your parents had no enemies, no creditors, and no debtors. They had no connection to local criminal groups. They had no interests that would bring them in contact with the sort of people who generally blow up cars.” I squeeze her hands gently.
I still haven’t told her that the police have had their leashes yanked. She’s safe, as long as I’m on watch, but I’m not sure she can deal with anymore shit from Shayla.
I’m pretty damn suspicious, though. Why would Shayla try to stop the murder investigation?
“Could it have been mistaken identity?” Emmeline asks softly. She’s calmed down in the last few days, as she’s learned to trust me with her safety and her life. She’s grown more confident too, and I don’t want to tell her anything that might set her back.
“It could have, except for one thing. They found part of the detonator. It was on a remote. Whoever killed your parents and tried to kill you was watching the whole time.”
She goes so pale that I immediately shut up and pull her into my arms. “I’m sorry, baby,” I murmur into her hair. “Let’s take a break from talking about this for a while.”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles against my neck, immediately giving me an awkward boner. “I wish I could be tougher for you.”
“You’re tougher than you think. You’re just hurting and exhausted. And in the meanwhile, you’ve got me to be tough for you.”
That makes her relax against me, and I smile into her hair. We might be starting slow ... but every mile of the journey is going to be awesome. We just have to get rid of Shayla.
“You ever think of leaving New Orleans?” I ask quietly. “I’ve got all that land over in Cali. People are nice there. And Shayla would get stopped at the gate.”
I haven’t thought of returning to my place outside Eureka since Mary died. It hurt too much to stay. Instead, we moved to be close to Mary’s mother, since she had no one left to help her get through.
I love New Orleans, and we have ties here now. But if Emmeline says the word, I’ll pick up and move across the country in a heartbeat. Anything to make her feel safer.
“This is my home,” she says simply. “I know that it has its problems, and that Shayla is here. But no, I’ve never considered leaving.”
I nod again and hold her close. “Then we stay.” And make a stand.
Unfortunately, until Molly comes back with something substantial, we’re stuck waiting for Shayla to make a move.
It doesn’t take her long. It’s two days later when she makes her move, and it nearly blinds me with rage.
“What happened?” Emmeline asks in a light panic as I throw on my leather jacket. “Is Jenny all right?”
“She’s fine. The daycare staff refused Shayla entry. They sure as hell didn’t let her take Jenny home with her, no matter how much she insisted that she’s my girlfriend.” I’m going to kill that bitch.
“I’m so sorry,” she starts, and I turn back to her.
“Don’t do that, sweetheart. This is not your fault. You stay here and keep the shades drawn, the lights off, and everything locked up. If anyone approaches
the house that you don’t know, you call me at once. Okay?”
She nods. “Okay.”
My phone rings as I stalk outside and walk to my truck, which is parked down the street while I repair my driveway. It’s Molly. I almost don’t pick up.
“Bad timing. Shayla tried to grab my kid from her daycare. I’m on my way over there.”
I start walking past the steel dumpsters out front that hold the stained and crumbling old blacktop, digging out my keys. But then Molly asks something that slows my walk.
“Wait. Did Shayla have any hope of actually getting in?”
“No, daycares don’t hand kids off to just any strange adult. I’m actually surprised Shayla didn’t know that.”
“She did. Don’t go. It’s a diversion!” Her voice has an actual edge of panic to it.
“Wait. How do you know?” I stop short. I’m almost to my truck, but the fear in her voice bothers me.
“That car you photographed was rented by Shayla, in cash. It was the second time she rented from that agency, which is by the airport. You said this Roland guy is probably from out of town?”
“Yeah.” My eyes narrow. “The local Monsignor’s always in the news, but he didn’t even know the guy’s name. He also had an accent, and no tan.”
“I think Shayla flies this guy in to do her dirty work when she wants someone dead. Like whoever is between her and half a billion dollars’ worth of inheritance money.” She takes a deep breath. “Like her own parents.”
“Or Emmeline.” I turn around in a desperate hurry. “I’ll call you back.”
I take one step back beside the dumpsters—and my truck goes up in a fireball behind me.
Chapter 11
Emmeline
I hear myself scream as the explosion shakes the windows. I burst out the door, see Carl’s truck in flames ... and everything goes gray and distant.
I sit down on the front steps, staring at the fireball. Carl. My world has just blown up again ... and this time, it’s not just my world. How will I tell Jenny?
I can’t move. I’m too cold. When a figure in white steps out of a van parked across the street, opens the gate and strolls up to me, I can’t even lift my head.
He ducks down instead, and I see Roland’s lopsided smile. “Hi there,” he says cheerily. “Looks like you’ve got a problem with keeping loved ones.”
He grabs me by the arm and yanks me to my feet just as Shayla pulls up in her gold Mercedes. She smirks as she sees the fire. “Good work, my little errand boy,” she says archly.
Roland shoots her an annoyed look. “Don’t call me that,” he warns, but she just laughs and stalks past me into Carl’s house.
“Bring her inside. I want to have some fun.”
I’m too numb to do anything as they half-drag me into the dining room. The next thing I know, I’m tied to one of the dining room chairs, but I don’t know how exactly I got there, my mind and body slowly having given up on me. Then Shayla leans into my face and smirks at me. “So, you’re gonna die. You should have given up that money when you had the chance, sweetie. Mama needs a new pair of shoes.”
I just stare at her, barely comprehending what she’s saying. Carl’s gone. He was supposed to be the one to protect me, and instead ... I’ll be burying him too. And it’s all because of Shayla.
I feel a faint ember of anger and hate under all the weight of my despair, but it’s not enough yet to make me shake it off and do something. I hate this world. I can’t deal with any of this.
But then I think of Jenny, and how she’s going to be left alone after this—just like I was. And how Shayla and her ... friend ... have gotten away with everything.
The ember grows into a spark. The gray fog starts to clear a little. I need to think. What do I do?
I let them tie me to the chair, but I can hear, and I can speak. I hold off on the second, letting Shayla yammer on.
“You know, none of this would have happened if you hadn’t gone back for your phone that afternoon. Really, honey, you’re completely useless. Why couldn’t you have just died with Mom and Dad when Roland blew their car?” Her mocking croon scrapes against my ears ... and I feel my anger grow.
“You?” I ask, pretending it takes more effort than it does.
She laughs. “Yeah! Me! You think I’m waiting around until I have gray hair to get what’s coming to me? I want to be a billionaire now, while I’m young and hot!”
I stare at her as Roland moves back and forth in the room behind me. I hear sloshing and smell gasoline. Oh, shit. This man means to kill me, just like he did my parents. Only my death will be … slower.
Time for me to unleash my secret weapon. The one thing she can’t handle, which has grown stronger in me since Carl showed me what love and protection can be like. “You sure you don’t just owe your coke dealer?”
Her jaw drops, and Roland bursts into soft laughter. She shoots him a glare. “Shut up and keep working!”
“I am a professional assassin, not your pet goon.” There’s an edge to his voice. “Lend a hand if you want the place in flames faster.”
“I don’t do manual labor! I’m the one paying you!” Shayla sniffs and turns back to me. “I’m going to untie one of your hands and put Dad’s straight razor in it. Then I’m going to set the room on fire. You’ve got two choices. Take your own life quickly, or burn.”
“Are we certain that we want to give her a weapon?” Roland doesn’t sound too impressed with her dastardly plan.
“Shut up! This is my show. You’re just the help.”
“This is how she talks to everyone,” I pipe up. “I’m her blood sister and she wants to burn me to death. She had her own parents blown up for money. You think she’ll treat you with respect?”
Roland snorts. “None of you would kill her for disrespecting you.”
Shayla backs off of me and stomps over to confront Roland. “Kill me? You’re gonna kill me? Who the fuck is going to pay for your plane tickets and fancy hotels if you start gunning down your clients?”
I look down at my wrists, which are still tied to the arms of the chair. I was so limp that they barely bothered to tie me securely. Carl’s tied me tighter than this. I start rocking my wrists back and forth, trying to get a little play in the rope so I can draw my hands out.
The two of them are bickering now instead of paying attention to me. “No one’s going to tie me to any of the deaths around here,” Roland sneers as I quietly struggle. “So watch your step.”
“You watch your step!” Shayla’s madness and ego have taken over, and she doesn’t see the way his eyes are narrowing as he stares at her. “I could buy you! I could buy ten of you!”
“Can you buy yourself a proper ass?” he sneers.
“Nope,” I add helpfully. This is actually a little bit fun—especially since I’m no longer all that scared of what will happen to me.
I just know one thing: I am not letting them burn down Carl’s house with Jenny’s puppy hiding somewhere in here. I will not let them take a single thing more away from anyone ... even if that means making them stop each other.
Roland snickers again. “Honestly, I like her better than you. She’s not a psychotic twat who doesn’t know when to shut her mouth.”
“Yes, she is. Your little bombing job left her with PTSD. For a while we thought she was going to the nuthouse instead of a nunnery.”
Roland stops dead. “Wait, wait. She was actually going to be a nun? Vows of poverty, all of that? She would have gotten out of the way without us doing anything, and you would have inherited your parents’ money as soon as they died of natural causes?”
Angry tears fill my eyes. “Yes.”
He turns to me, staring. “You would have gone and become a holy woman.” For a moment there’s a twitch of ... something ... in the back of those empty eyes.
“Yeah. I was about to start serving as a novice.”
Puzzlement fills his expression. “What happened?”
I explode su
ddenly, pulling against the ropes so hard that the chair arms creak. “You happened! You and that crazy bitch over there! You killed my parents and you tried to kill me!”
This isn’t manipulation. I’m not just talking back to drive my sister off-balance and make her argue with a dangerous assassin. This is raw emotion pouring out of me.
“How in the hell can I believe in God when this psycho ruined my childhood, tried to ruin my life, and is now trying to burn me alive? How can I believe in any kind of divine justice when murderers like you and her are allowed to just walk around free? How?”
“How indeed?” muses a deep voice from the hallway behind Roland.
Shayla’s jaw drops and she just turns and stands there, peering down the hall toward the back door like she’s seen a ghost. I hear the sound of a shotgun cocking.
Roland moves like lightning, his lean white form darting behind the nearest cover as he draws a gilded pistol from beneath his suit coat. Unfortunately for Shayla, the nearest cover is her. He grabs her and yanks her backwards against him as a human shield, holding the pistol over her shoulder.
“You’ll hit your lover’s sister,” he taunts the unseen figure with the raspy voice. I feel very dizzy suddenly.
“I’ll hit my lover’s abuser. Drop the gun. Or I’ll blow you both away.”
Carl?
“Um ...” Roland looks between the hallway and me, and then glances back at the door behind me. “I don’t think you’ll do that in cold blood.”
“Bitch, you splashed gasoline all over my kitchen and living room! Nobody’s going to believe this isn’t self-defense!”
Roland blinks once—and then shrugs. “Goodbye.”
He shoves Shayla forward and yanks the front door open, bursting out onto the porch. I can hear running feet—and then the yelp of sirens as at least one cruiser pulls up. Guess the fire caught too much attention for even the lieutenant to brush off.
Shayla is on her ass, trying to get to her feet in stiletto heels. They skid on the hardwood as she stares up at whoever is walking slowly down the hall toward her. “I had you killed!” she complains.
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