Wicked

by Jana DeLeon

  You should have known better.

  She blew out a breath and headed into a café across the street from the police department. She was already late for class and she’d get ten points off her next exam because of it. You either produced an emergency room bill or a death certificate, or Dr. Gilbert didn’t give you a pass. As far as he was concerned, the sun rose and set over philosophy and there were few excuses for failing to elevate your mind as scheduled by the university. It was just as well. Two angry old men in one day might have had her reaching for her Mace. Worst case, she’d use it on herself just to get a medical pass for a day off.

  She tossed her backpack onto a table in the back corner and plopped into a seat. The smell of beignets made her stomach rumble. Fuck it, she thought. To hell with the diet and Dr. Gilbert and his boring class and elitist thinking. She was going to sit here, drink coffee until she was about to drown in it, and eat all of her weekly caloric allowance in beignets.

  “Can I help you, hon?” the waitress asked.

  “God, I hope so. I need a pot of coffee and a huge plate of beignets.”

  The waitress gave her a sympathetic look. “That bad already, huh?” She glanced at the backpack. “You a student?”

  Tara nodded. “Lafitte University.”

  “I take night classes there. Great school but the professors are a mixed bag.”

  “Definitely. But right now, it’s not school causing my aggravation. It’s the police.”

  The waitress raised one eyebrow. “You don’t look like the type who’d have problems with the police.”

  “Oh, I’m not in trouble. I need help but they won’t do anything. I told them my friend was missing, but that butthole detective was all ‘you college kids like to disappear sometimes and have some fun.’ Then he suggested that if I gave my boyfriend more room, he might tell me when he’s going off somewhere.”

  “Wow. What a douche.”

  “Ethan’s not even my boyfriend,” Tara continued her rant. “He’s just a friend, but he would never leave school without telling me where he was going. Besides, his car’s still in the parking lot. Am I supposed to believe he hiked off to wherever when he has a perfectly good car just sitting there?”

  The waitress frowned. “Maybe he partied a little too hard and is sleeping it off somewhere.”

  “Ethan hasn’t taken a drink in his life. His entire existence is a study in boredom. He’s an accounting major, for Christ’s sake. He has every minute of his life scheduled, even sleeping.”

  “Doesn’t sound like the type to be lost in a French Quarter alley,” the waitress agreed. “What did the detective say?”

  “To call Ethan’s parents and if they want to file a report they can do it. Then he went on to say they probably still wouldn’t look for him until he was missing for a couple of days or there were signs of foul play. Apparently, they’re too busy over there to look for missing people.”

  The waitress flipped her pad over and started writing. She ripped off the ticket and handed it to Tara. “I don’t know if she’s back in New Orleans, but if she is, you should talk to this woman. I bet she can help you.”

  Tara looked at the ticket. “Shaye Archer? Isn’t that the heiress who’s been all over the news? Pierce Archer’s granddaughter?”

  “That’s the one. She comes in here sometimes with a detective friend of hers. I haven’t seen her since everything blew up about her grandfather and the police chief, but maybe she’s just lying low. I heard she specializes in cases that the police won’t take.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have much money. Aren’t private investigators expensive?”

  “What about your friend’s parents?”

  “Ethan’s parents died in a car wreck a little over a year ago. His grandmother is his only living relative that he has contact with and she’s in a nursing home. Dementia. Sometimes she recognizes him. Sometimes she doesn’t.”

  “Did you tell the detective that?”

  “Yeah, but he’d already made up his mind.”

  The waitress tapped the paper. “Find Shaye Archer. If anyone can help, she can.”

  The waitress headed for the kitchen and Tara traced her finger across Shaye’s name on the ticket. Tara knew the name. It was impossible to be a resident of New Orleans and not know Shaye Archer’s story. But the news had claimed Shaye and her mother fled the country after Pierce Archer’s suicide. No one had reported they were back, but Tara supposed it didn’t hurt to check. At this point, all she had to lose was time.

  She pulled out her laptop and typed in Shaye’s name and “private investigator.” A ton of news stories pulled up but she finally located Shaye’s website after scrolling through at least ten pages of media blasts. She clicked on the contact and started to send an email but then decided she’d rather go in person. It was supposed to be harder to say no to someone’s face. Detective Vincent didn’t have a problem with it, but surely someone who’d been through the wringer like Shaye Archer wouldn’t dismiss her outright.

  First, she’d have her pot of coffee and beignets. Then she’d walk to Shaye’s office and chat with her. To hell with classes. Her concentration was already crap and it wasn’t going to improve. Not until she knew where Ethan was and that he was okay.

  She said a quick prayer that Shaye was back in town and could help her.

  Shaye pulled into a parking space next to Jackson’s truck and killed her engine. She’d intended to be out of the house before the sun came up, but exhaustion had won out and she’d overslept. With the cover of night no longer available, she’d switched to plan B, which included a long, hot shower and breakfast.

  When she’d finally worked up the courage, she’d faked a French accent and called the police station to ask for Jackson, hoping he would have time to meet her somewhere to talk. The dispatcher had informed her Jackson wasn’t in today. She’d hoped he was taking a much-needed day off by choice instead of being asked to by the interim chief. Corrine was still asleep when she left and since Shaye knew her mother had been up most of the night, she didn’t wake her.

  Now she sat staring at his apartment building, trying to work up the courage to go knock on the door. What was she going to say? “Hello, I’m back” seemed a little strange and far too casual. Did she hug him? Shake his hand? What was the protocol for addressing the man who she’d sort-of, almost started a relationship with before fleeing the country and going silent for two months?

  Finally, she got out of her SUV and walked up the steps to his apartment. Delaying wasn’t going to make the situation any more comfortable or give her the magical answers she was looking for that didn’t exist. She simply needed to knock on his door and play it by ear. For a woman who preferred a plan and who didn’t allow many people into her personal life, it was a big leap of faith.

  She lifted her hand to ring the doorbell and paused. Last chance to change her mind. Drawing in a deep breath, she pushed. The faint sound of the doorbell echoed inside the apartment and she listened anxiously for sounds of movement inside. She hadn’t seen Jackson’s undercover car in the parking lot. What if he was gone in the car? Or jogging? Or sound asleep and didn’t hear the door?

  She pressed the doorbell again and heard someone moving inside.

  “I thought you said eleven o’clock,” Jackson said as he swung the door open.

  His eyes widened when he saw her standing there. His hair was all mussed and he had on boxers and a T-shirt. He blinked twice, as if not believing his eyes, and Shaye began to worry that she’d made the wrong call coming here.

  Then he smiled. “Oh my God, Shaye. I thought you were the cable guy. Come in.”

  He moved toward her a bit, like he was going to hug her, but then he took a step back and waved her inside. She was momentarily disappointed, but then reminded herself that Jackson had always been very careful not to cross boundaries with her. He wouldn’t touch her unless he knew for certain that she was okay with it. The thought made her heart clench all over again as she
recalled one of the many reasons she was so attracted to him, but at the same time, her anxiety level rose because she knew the onus was on her if she wanted their relationship to progress.

  She stepped inside the living room and looked around, surprised by what she saw. Most young, single men she knew had a dark leather couch, a huge television, and not much else. Jackson’s apartment was tastefully decorated with rich brown couch and chairs, ornate tables, and the expected huge television.

  “Can I get you some coffee?” he asked, fidgeting a bit.

  “Only if you already have some,” she said.

  “I don’t right this second, but I haven’t had any yet, so it’s going to get made anyway.”

  “In that case, I’d love a cup.”

  “Great. Come into my kitchen,” he said, waving his hand at the open room beyond the living area. “It’s doesn’t have the sitting room that Corrine’s has, but I’ve got a nice two-top and plenty of sunlight.”

  Shaye followed him into the kitchen and took a seat at a small table in front of a large window that looked out into an attractive courtyard. Jackson put the coffee on to brew and sat across from her.

  “When did you get back?” he asked.

  “Last night…er, well, technically, this morning. About two a.m. Corrine thought that arrival hour would make it easier.”

  “Did you have any trouble?”

  She shook her head. “No one’s noticed yet. It was still quiet when I left the house, but it won’t stay that way for long. I’m sure a neighbor or delivery guy or postman or someone else will see me or my mother and the news will spread faster than a cold on an airplane.”

  His expression shifted from happy to slightly disgusted. “Yeah, you gotta love the media for all the good they do. Like you haven’t had enough of them to last a lifetime already.”

  “That’s true enough, but they’re not going to give me a pass.”

  He studied her for a bit, then finally asked, “How are you doing?”

  He was one of the only people who could ask her that question and she knew for certain that his concern was real. That he wasn’t looking for a round of gossip to run out and share with his friends and coworkers. He was also one of the only people that she trusted with the truth, but right now, the truth was still jumbled and so she couldn’t answer with any certainty.

  “I’m okay,” she said. “I mean, I’m angry, and confused, and still overwhelmed a lot of the time, but I’ve moved past the severe depression I had right after.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t even imagine…two months later and I’m still trying to process it.”

  “I didn’t get to thank you,” she said. “Everything happened so fast that night, then Corrine and I fled. I’m sorry I didn’t contact you. I should have.”

  “You shouldn’t have done anything you didn’t feel like doing. You’ve been through more than any hundred human beings experience over a lifetime. Do you really think I’m so selfish that I expected you to think about me given all you had to consider?” He sighed. “I’m here, Shaye, whenever you’re ready to talk or if you just want to sit quietly and stare out the window. All you have to do is ask.”

  She felt the tears well up and her heart ached with the overwhelming feeling of gratitude. Never in her life had she met a man like Jackson, and she still wondered what she’d done to deserve such good fortune.

  “I don’t even know what to say,” she managed finally, “except that I’m grateful to have you in my life. And thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

  Jackson reached across the table and touched her hand. She felt his strong fingers close over hers, and a feeling of peace and warmth rushed through her.

  “You’re important to me,” he said. “Probably more important than you know. I know what you’ve got to deal with and can’t even fathom how hard it’s going to be, but no matter how long it takes or how difficult it is, I’m going to be right there by your side the entire way. If you want me to be.”

  Shaye nodded as a single tear streamed down her cheek. “Always.”

  “Some friend I am,” he said. “Your first day back and I make you cry.”

  She smiled and wiped the tear from her cheek. “I’m okay with happy tears. I’ve had enough of the other.”

  He nodded. “I know you have Eleonore and Corrine, but if you ever need to talk—to someone who’s not your therapist or mother—I’m always here. I can’t even imagine everything you’re trying to work through and how overwhelming it all is, so if there’s anything I can do to help—anything at all—please let me know.”

  “There are some things I want to talk through. Things I don’t want to share with Eleonore and Corrine yet. But I don’t want to talk about them right now. I need to help Corrine with all the business decisions she has to make before I delve into my own issues.”

  “Is Corrine going to step into the CEO position, or is she looking for someone to run it for her?”

  “Actually, she swears she’s going to sell it all—the real estate, the manufacturing company, all the smaller interests, everything.”

  “Wow.” He blew out a breath. “I guess I shouldn’t really be surprised. Corrine never had any interest in Pierce’s businesses, and it’s not where her experience and education fit.”

  “But?”

  “I don’t know. I guess it will seem strange to see the Archer name disappear from New Orleans. It’s been so prominent for so long.”

  “Yeah, but now it’s famous for all the wrong reasons. More than anything, I think my mother just wants her old life back. It was the one she chose for herself and the one she wants.”

  “Do you think that’s even possible?”

  “I have to, because I want my life back, too.”

  His eyes widened. “Are you going to continue investigating?”

  “Yes. I thought about it a long time, but the bottom line is there’s nothing else I want to do. I am in a unique position where I can help people who’ve fallen through the cracks, and I don’t have to worry about making some boss happy or paying the rent.”

  “NOLA’s answer to Batman?”

  “I wish. His car is totally cooler than mine. And I’m not one for ostentatious, but I’d take that house with the secret cave, too.”

  “We could probably get you a cool car, but I think it might be a problem with the whole surveillance thing.”

  She laughed. “Not to mention the condition of the streets here pose a problem to anything with low clearance.”

  He smiled. “Have I told you yet how good it is to talk to you again?”

  “I think so too. But enough about me. What’s going on with you? Eleonore came to see us as soon as we got home and said there have been some issues in the department. I figure she was underselling it in an attempt to keep from upsetting me, but I imagine you’ve caught hell over a lot of things.”

  He held up a finger and got up from his seat. “That is a conversation that requires coffee.”

  He poured them both a cup and brought them to the table, then retrieved a bowl of sweetener before sitting again and taking a sip of the coffee.

  “I’m not going to lie,” he said. “It’s been a little rough.”

  “Eleonore said they installed an interim chief.”

  Jackson nodded. “He’s not a bad guy. Got a decent record.”

  “But?”

  “Everything that went down with Bernard left us looking pretty bad, especially with the press yelling corruption. He’s got the mayor breathing down his neck to clean up the department, which prompted him to call in the FBI.”

  “Wow. Eleonore didn’t say anything about that.”

  “They’re not here anymore. They spent a month questioning us like I would a murder suspect and finally issued a report stating that they found no evidence that any existing department employee had knowledge of Bernard’s involvement or past involvement with the case.”

  “And that didn’t satisfy the mayor?”

  �
��Somewhat, but the press pushed for a long time. The public wants someone to answer for everything that happened and more importantly, to pay. Pierce’s and Bernard’s suicides took that option away and I think a lot of people are flailing around, trying to figure out where to shove all that anger and need for justice.”

  “I know how that feels.”

  “You know better than anyone how it feels, and have the absolute right to complain about it. Everyone else is just being childish. They’ll get over it eventually.”

  “But in the meantime, you’re catching hell. How is your relationship with Grayson?”

  Jackson sighed. “It was pretty bad at first. He figured out immediately that I suspected him of being the perp. It’s not exactly a great bond-building thing if the guy you’re supposed to trust with your life thinks you’re a serial killer.”

  “I imagine that puts a strain on things. But he got over it?”

  “I wouldn’t say that he’s completely over it. Once he came off the ceiling and saw all the evidence, I realized he would have thought the same thing. But I don’t know if things will ever be the same. I guess I just have to wait it out.”

  “I’m really sorry about that. I never wanted to cause you trouble. I know how much your job means to you.”

  “Don’t worry about it. In the big scheme of things, a handful of people being pissy with me is a small price to pay for everything we exposed.” He looked her straight in the eyes. “For getting you the answers you deserved. I have no regrets.”

  She nodded, afraid that if she spoke, she’d start to cry.

  “So?” he asked. “What’s next on the agenda for you?”

  She wasn’t sure whether he was changing the subject to avoid her discomfort or his own, but it didn’t matter. They could both use a breath from depressing subjects.

  “I don’t know. You’d think after all that time to consider it all, I’d have a better idea, right?” She shrugged. “I guess the first thing is to check on my apartment and make sure everything is good there and pick up anything I need.”