by JoAnn Ross
"Dammit." Nick leaped to his feet, his long legs braced apart, holding the pistol he'd pulled from somewhere in a two-handed grip. "It's too freakin' foggy to risk shooting." His voice was roughened with angry frustration.
He scooped up the phone he'd thrown down when he'd pulled out his Sig. Then crouched down beside her.
"You okay?"
"Of course."
Sirens screamed through the foggy night. "Stay down," he instructed when she started to stand up.
"I'm as much of a cop as you, Broussard. More, since you're not with the force anymore. And as much as I appreciate you covering my back, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Besides, the shooter's long gone."
"You're probably right." He held out a broad, dark hand. Kate flinched as he pulled her to her feet.
He turned her hand over. Frowned at her palm. "You're hurt."
"It's only a scrape. Things could've gone a lot worse." Like they both could've died. "How did you know that guy was going to shoot?"
"The red laser light on the front of your blouse."
"My blouse?" She looked down at her chest, as if expecting to see it still shining there.
"Yeah. I guess it's lucky for you I was checking out your breasts when he came by."
"You were checking out my breasts?" Again?
"That's not the pertinent question." He didn't, she noted, apologize.
"And the pertinent question would be?"
"You've only been in the city a few hours. Granted, you can be a bit of a pain in the ass, but how the hell did you already piss someone off enough to want to kill you?"
Before she could toss back a stiletto-sharp response, two black-and-whites came screaming up to the curb, inns blaring, bar lights flashing blue strobes. The cops who leaped out of the car, guns drawn—one the whitest person she'd ever seen, the other African-American— looked unbelievably young. And—oh, great, wasn't that all they needed?—nervous.
"Looks like the cavalry's arrived," he said.
"They're not exactly Starsky and Hutch." Kate derided to table her pique with him until they handled l his situation.
"Get down on the ground," the white one's voice cracked as he shouted the command. "On your stomachs, legs spread, hands on the back of your head. And drop the damn bag."
15
KATE UNDERSTOOD THE CITY WAS IN DESPERATE need of police, but couldn't they at least let them get through puberty before sending them out in cruisers?
"I'm getting down on the ground." She repeated the cop's words, hoping they'd offer some assurance as she tossed her purse out of reach, then once again lay prone on the sidewalk. "I assume you know, or at least have heard of former detective Nick Broussard?"
She tilted her head toward Nick, who was lying beside her. "Oh, yeah," the other cop said. "Everyone's heard of Broussard."
"I'm Detective Kate Delaney, Chicago, PD. If you'll just let me get my ID out of my bag—"
"Just stay where you are, ma'am," the first cop said. "Check the bag," he instructed his partner. "Are we going to find anything dangerous in there, ma'am?" he asked. "A knife, needles—"
"I flew here from Chicago today. I know screeners get a bad rap, but I suspect if I was carrying any weapons, I wouldn't have been allowed to board the plane."
"You could've bought something once you got to town," the cop argued, proving he had at least one working brain cell.
"Far be it from me to tell you how to do your job, boys," Nick said, his tone as casual as if they were all standing at the bar at some local cop watering hole, shooting the bull. "But while we're discussing the contents of Detective Delaney's purse, the assailant is getting away."
"So neither of you are the assailant?"
So much for that alleged brain cell.
"Dispatch has already been informed that the assailant was riding a Kawasaki motorcycle," Kate told him through her teeth, wishing she could lower her hands. It wasn't that easy lifting her head so she could carry on this stupid, ineffectual, time-wasting conversation. "He might have even passed you."
"The ID reads 'Chicago PD,' " the second cop reported. He was holding his Mag-Lite on the card in her billfold.
A small crowd was beginning to gather. "You might want to pick up the bullets from the sidewalk before you lose evidence to the looky-loos," Nick suggested.
The guy, who reminded Kate of the albino monk from The Da Vinci Code, squared his shoulders. "We don't need your advice on how to handle evidence, Broussard."
"May we get up now, Officer?" Kate asked, attempting to forestall the cop from getting into a pissing match with Nick.
"Sure." His words were directed toward Kate, but his heated gaze was on Nick. "Are you hurt, ma'am?"
"It's Detective," she said, hoping to garner enough authority here to keep things from getting out of hand. "And I'm just dandy."
"Do you know any reason anyone would want to be shooting at you, ma'am?" Junior asked.
"None at all," Kate said, not quite truthfully.
She couldn't believe that any of the Chicago cops making anonymous death threats would've actually followed her to New Orleans, but she'd certainly arrested criminals with less motivation for murder.
She turned to Nick. "How about you?"
"Non," he said. "It was probably just a random drive-by. Some gangbanger's initiation so he can join up with his homies."
Another car pulled up to the curb. Kate groaned inwardly as Dubois stepped out from behind the wheel.
"Well, well. Who do we have here?" He grinned as he swaggered toward her, his shirt straining against his broad belly, looking as if he'd been sent in from Central Casting to play a stereotypical fat, corrupt southern cop. "If it ain't the little lady from the big city."
"It's Detective," Kate corrected.
"You know, that's a funny thing." He rubbed his chin. Tabasco-sauce stains dotted his yellow tie. "After you left the station earlier, I happened to be talking with a Chicago cop."
It was his smirk that gave him away. Just happened. Yeah, right. How about he picked up the phone and made the call to check up on her?
"Well, he told me you fudged a bit when you told us you were a detective. Seems you're on administrative leave. So you could testify in a federal case alleging police misbehavior."
"It was police corruption. And there was nothing alleged about it."
"So you say. But the jury's still out on that, isn't it?" The damn smirk was back. It was all Kate could do not to knock it off his fat face. "Because this is America, land of the free and home of the brave, where suspects are innocent until proven guilty in a court of law."
And wasn't that what Nick had said earlier? Kate knew she'd be more likely to stumble across a blue unicorn in Jackson Square than find a cop who ever believed he might, just possibly, be arresting an innocent person.
Since it was obvious she wasn't going to find out anything about Tara from this Neanderthal, she turned toward Nick, who'd been standing beside her, silently watching the conversation play out.
Kate was grateful he hadn't rushed in to help her out, as if she were some damsel in distress who needed rescuing.
But maybe that was because he agreed with Dubois?
Remy Landreaux, who'd paused to talk to the uniforms after getting out of the unmarked car, strolled over, his expression bland. "Why don't you go get those patrol guys looking for witnesses," he said to his partner, more of an order than a suggestion. "While I have a I little talk with the vic?"
Kate could tell Dubois wasn't thrilled about that idea. But Landreaux must've outranked him, because he lumbered off, leaving them alone.
"Helluva partner you've got there," Nick said.
"If you cared about what kinda guy I had to partner up with, cher, you should've stayed on the force," Remy said mildly. "So, why don't we take a couple minutes for y'all to give me your statements, and you can be on your way."
The facts of the shooting were cut-and-dried, and both Nick and Kate remembered it exac
tly the same way. Unfortunately, none of what they remembered was going to prove that helpful in apprehending the shooter.
"There's something else," Remy said as he slipped his notebook back into the pocket of his suit jacket. "Your sister's case has taken on some complications that I'm not at liberty to discuss with you at the moment," he told Kate. "But while you may currently be persona non grata for ratting out your fellow cops—"
"Crooked cops," she corrected.
"Yeah. From what I could tell from the reports Dubois had them fax to him, they look as guilty as sin." He laughed at her obvious surprise. "What, you don't think I can be on your side?"
"Let's just say I wasn't given the impression that NOPD is all that thrilled to have me here."
"Things are complicated," he said, telling her nothing she hadn't already figured out for herself. "But believe me when I tell you that most of the police officers wearing a badge these days believe in an uncorrupted police force."
He slanted Nick a significant look Kate couldn't quite understand. Not helping was the fact Nick's expression gave nothing away.
"And you would be in that majority?" she asked Lan-dreaux.
He nodded. "Absolutely." He tipped his fingers to his forehead in a little salute and started walking back to the car when he turned back to them. "Oh, just remembered." He reached into his jacket pocket again and pulled out an NOPD business card. "I wrote your mama's address and phone number on the back. Just in case you'd like to get in touch with her."
Kate would've rather coated her body with chicken grease and gone skinny-dipping with alligators. But she took the card. "Thank you."
"Hey." His smile was warm and appeared genuine. "We good guys have to stick together."
16
"I PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE TOLD YOU ABOUT that federal jury thing," she murmured.
"We can get into that later."
"Later," she agreed as they drove past what looked to be a convention of Hell's Angels going into the bar where Nick had been caught by undercover cameras taking a bribe.
And wasn't Ms. Black-and-White Law-and-Order going to be thrilled to find out about that?
Nick wondered why, given that there'd never been any love lost between Dubois and him, the dickhead hadn't spilled the beans about him having gotten kicked off the force.
Perhaps he'd decided, after that little news flash about what had happened with Kate in Chicago, to save the bombshell of Nick's public disgrace for some more opportune time.
Maybe using it as a weapon to divide them, when, and if, either he or Kate became a problem.
Nick knew, all the way to the marrow of his bones, that Dubois was dirty. He also suspected the guy had more than a little to do with Big Antoine's "suicide." But proving it was another matter.
And now, with Kate's arrival on the scene, things could get really complicated.
Especially since it was more than apparent that one or both of them had now become a target.
"I don't imagine, considering the fact that you were just shot at, you'd be willing to just call it a night? Start hitting the Voodoo shops in the morning?"
"Is that what you'd do? If you were working this case alone?"
"Probably not." Since he was already not being one hundred percent honest with her, Nick was willing to admit to the truth about this.
"Well, then." She folded her arms. "Let's get started."
Three hours later, Kate was Voodooed out. Native Charms Botanica was much like all the other shops they'd been in. A plethora of papier-mâché and carved wooden masks hung on the brightly painted walls; the wooden shelves were overflowing with painted rattles, Voodoo dolls, candles, displays of beaded bracelets, religious statues, tarot cards, and bottles of oils.
Kate had never seen so many alligator heads and teeth in one place in her life. Actually, she'd never seen an alligator head. Or tooth, either, for that matter. And she could have gone the rest of her life without the experience.
A stunningly beautiful woman with thick black hair braided in beaded cornrows, and skin the color of café au lait, looked up as they entered. She started to break into a smile as she saw Nick, but when she also caught sight of Kate, her eyes widened.
She broke into a torrent of what Kate took to be Cajun French. Nick answered back, the words rolling off his tongue as if he'd grown up speaking the language. Which he undoubtedly had. He could have been discussing the weather, or the economy, or this year's New Orleans Saints' season; whatever, the deep tones were as warm and smooth as a whiskey sauce on bread pudding—and sexy as hell.
"Kate, this is Téophine Jannise."
He put his arm around the woman, the gesture easy and natural. Kate felt a little stab of something alien and was appalled to realize it felt uncomfortably like jealousy.
"Téo, this is Kate Delaney. She's visiting from Chicago."
"Welcome to New Orleans." She extended a beringed hand. "You're obviously Desiree's sister."
"Yes, I am." Kate didn't see any point in correcting her sister's name.
"How lovely that you can visit your twin."
"She's dead." She hated saying those words.
"Non!" Téo's shocked gaze flew to Nick. There was another torrent of French.
"She says your sister was here just last weekend." Then added, "On Sunday," answering the question Kate had just been about to ask.
"Oui," Téo confirmed. "She came in looking for some diab oil and St. Expedit root," She frowned. "I told her I would never stock such things in my store."
"Why not?" Kate asked.
"Because they're used by bokor. Those who follow the left-hand path."
"Black magic?"
"Oui. Though you must understand that all magic, black and white, is not actually magic at all, but merely a way to employ the supernatural powers of the lwa."
"Which would be your gods?"
Although it wasn't germane to her goal of finding Tara's killer, Kate had always had a strong streak of curiosity. Which, she figured, was part of what made her a good cop. She honestly was interested in hearing a bit about this alien belief system, if for no other reason than to try to understand her sister a little bit better.
"The lwa are not gods, at least in the way a Christian might think of the concept," T£o explained. "They're misté, mysteries that humans can't fully understand, yet we know them as immortal spirits with supernatural powers who oversee all aspects of life, present in all forms of nature: trees, wind, sea, earth. Also, they're present in our ordinary world, in figures, crosses, and other man-made items consecrated to them."
She gestured toward a row of small cloth dolls on a display in the shop window. "In the pantheon of religious beliefs, they fall somewhere between God and humans. They're the link between us and our one God, whom we call Bondye, but he's far too powerful and remote for direct worship. So he created the lwa as manifestations of different aspects of himself and allowed them to exist in both worlds as a way for him to communicate with humankind."
"They sound a bit like saints."
"Oui." She smiled, obviously pleased Kate had grasped the concept. "They're very much like Catholic saints, angels and devils. Although they behave very much like humans, with all the range of our unruly emotions, and can behave irrationally, which is why it's important to stay on their good side.
"But, other than that, the resemblance is very strong, because Roman Catholicism has been influencing Voodoo customs ever since the seventeenth century, when fearful plantation owners in Haiti forced all the slaves to convert to Catholicism. It did not take long for the two religions to begin to blend, and practitioners simply started using the saints to stand in for their own lwa.
"The word lwa means law, and in fact the lwa represent the cosmic laws, which means black magic and evil spirits are facts of life in the Voodoo religion," she continued.
"For every positive force, there must be a negative force to keep the world in a harmonious balance, and while legitimate devotees of Voodoo know how to wor
k such magic, having taken an oath upon initiation to never cause anyone harm, they don't practice it."
"So all that stuff about putting curses on people and making zombies is just exaggerated movie hype?"
"For the most part. Oh, there will always be those who use the dark powers as a shortcut to achieving what they want. There are also those who choose to practice it as a way to make money. But they themselves pay a very high price for crossing the divide."
"How?"
Could her sister have been one of these dark practitioners? Was that why she'd been killed? For revenge?
"When a bokor purchases the assistance of any dark lwa, he enters into an anajan to repay the spirit with an expensive sacrifice. Once he makes this commitment, he becomes the lwa's slave for the rest of his life. If he ever tries to break this agreement, the spirit will punish him with death. Or the death of his loved ones."
Kate exchanged a look with Nick, knowing they were thinking the same thing. While she couldn't quite make the leap to believe in supernatural spirits making deals with evil sorcerers and running amok in the world, committing murder and mayhem, Kate had definitely seen enough in her years as a cop to know that evil did exist.
And it was beginning to look as if Tara had somehow gotten herself caught up in something very evil that had proven deadly.
"What happened after you told her you didn't have those items to sell?" she asked, trying to return the conversation to its original track.
"She became very agitated." Téo's lips turned downward in a frown. "Truthfully, she was already very upset when she came in. I suggested a calming potion, but she wouldn't stay long enough for me to mix one up for her."
"We need to know if you have any idea where my sister might have gone once she left your store."
"You must understand what you're asking." The woman's expression turned grave. "Becoming even remotely involved with the dark forces is very dangerous."
"I'm willing to take the chance," Kate said, when what she really wanted to say was, Why don't you ask me if I give a flying fuck?
