by Jana DeLeon
“And the other woman told you Caitlyn was missing?”
“Yeah, she said that apparently Caitlyn had gone out the back door into the alley and now they couldn’t find her. She showed me a picture of the two sisters and pointed out Caitlyn, asking if I’d seen her.”
“And did she seem worried?”
“She was definitely upset, but then they were barely legal and not from here, and one of their girlfriends had done a dip from a bar during Mardi Gras. I would have freaked out too.”
“Of course. So what did you do then?”
“I asked if they wanted to call the police, and the other woman said no, that sometimes their friend did this and if they got the police involved, she might run into problems with her parents and at school. Then the sister starting doing that name repeating thing, and I went off to get her the shot.”
“Did you see a young man with them?”
“Not then, but he was there when I checked on them a bit later. He was telling the other woman that Caitlyn wasn’t in the alley. He said he’d walked around the block, but it was so packed there was little chance of finding her. He suggested the other woman take the sister back to the hotel and keep calling Caitlyn’s cell while he stayed in the area and looked some more.”
“So they left?”
“Yeah, the other woman gave me some money for the whiskey, which I tried not to take but she insisted, then all three of them left the bar.”
“And you never saw Caitlyn?”
“No. Honestly, I didn’t even think about it again until the next day when the cops showed up. It made me sick to think what might have happened. Made me reassess the way I did things, too, especially when I was out with friends. The older I get, the more I watch the news and am glad I made those changes years ago.” She paused. “I’m sorry. I guess I don’t have to tell you about the bad things people do.”
“No. But you’re smart to be more careful. It won’t stop someone fixated on you, but you can prevent the opportunist from taking advantage.”
“But then he just moves on to the next person, right? The one who isn’t as careful.”
Shaye didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. They both knew the score. She rose from her chair. “I’ve taken up enough of your time, but I appreciate you talking to me. I’d like to talk to another waitress named Carly. Does she still work here?”
Alyssa shook her head. “Got married and moved on to the domestic life a couple years ago. She was local when she left—well, Gretna, so close enough.”
“I don’t suppose you know her married name?”
“Boudreaux. Husband’s name is Brad.”
“Thanks. If you think of anything else, give me a call.”
“Sure. And good luck. I hope you find something. Her sister needs to know, even though it’s probably not the answer she wants.”
Shaye nodded and headed out of the bar. She climbed into her SUV and pulled away, mulling over her conversations with Cody and Alyssa. Nothing they’d said had gone beyond what she already knew from the police reports. But expecting a revelation six years later was asking for a miracle. Tomorrow, she’d look up Carly and talk to her, even though it probably wouldn’t accomplish any more than tonight had. It was redundant but necessary.
Once she’d verified everything from external sources, then she’d take a drive to Ponchatoula and have more in-depth conversations with Marisa, Rick, and Jenny, hopefully independently of one another. The entire time they’d been in her office, Shaye had felt an undercurrent. She’d known from the start that Rick wasn’t happy about being there, and he’d explained his position after the two women had left.
But there was something else bothering her. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She was certain someone was lying…or maybe not necessarily lying but deliberately hiding something. The reality was most people were hiding something. The question was did it matter to this case?
That was something Shaye needed to figure out.
JACKSON LAMOTTE WAS MORE EXHAUSTED than he could remember being in months. He and Detective Grayson had been working almost round the clock on the kidnapping case, checking every possible angle and hoping for a break. So far, their hopes had landed on deaf ears. Jackson set his coffee cup down and pulled up the reports he’d written on his computer screen. Somewhere there had to be a clue. Something they’d missed. The one thing that would lead them to locating thirteen-year-old Brianna LeBlanc.
“Let’s get out of here.” Grayson’s voice sounded behind him, and he turned around to see the senior detective looking down at him, his entire body sagging. “We’ve been at this too long and need to sleep. We’re not doing anybody any good at this point.”
Jackson knew he was right. It had taken him reading the list of files on the screen three times before he’d clicked on the right one, but he still hated to leave. It felt like giving up, even though he knew getting some rest was the smartest thing he could do. He blew out a breath and grabbed his keys out of the drawer. Grayson clapped him on the back.
“We’ll get them,” Grayson said.
Of course, Grayson couldn’t make that kind of promise, but he’d said it for his own benefit as much as for Jackson’s.
“We always do, right?” Jackson said.
That part was mostly true. Jackson and Grayson’s success rate was the highest in the department. It was something Jackson was extremely proud of, but with that success came the responsibility for handling the most difficult cases. And this was definitely one of them. Any time the clock was ticking on a human life, the sense of urgency was completely different from a straightforward homicide. When the victim was a child, it was even worse.
They headed out to the parking lot, silently shuffling to their cars. “I’ll be here at seven,” Grayson said.
Jackson nodded and climbed into his truck. It was 11:00 p.m. and it felt as if he’d been up for a week. He checked his cell phone and saw a message from Shaye, asking him to call if he got off at a reasonable hour. Eleven p.m. on a Monday wasn’t exactly reasonable, and even though Shaye was sort of a night owl, he wasn’t about to risk waking her up with a call. Instead he sent a text.
Sorry. Just getting off. Will talk tomorrow.
Before he started the truck, he got a reply.
I’m sorry. I know you’re wiped out. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.
He smiled. He hadn’t been looking for a relationship when he met Shaye. A couple times in the past, he’d taken a stab at them, but nothing had even gotten serious. Mostly, they’d gotten contentious when women realized exactly what his job entailed and that he wasn’t going to change it for anyone. Falling for Shaye had been like falling off a cliff. He’d never seen it coming and yet one day, he’d simply realized that he wanted a relationship with her. Something real. Something lasting.
She was perfect for him. Intelligent and direct but warm and kind. She was also the bravest person he’d ever met. And because of what she’d been through and the person she’d become, she not only understood his work better than most people, she wholeheartedly supported the way he approached it. Probably because she approached her work in the same manner, something that gave him a lot of pause and often considerable stress, but he wasn’t about to be hypocritical about it. They were both doing what they needed to do and what they were best at. And no one could argue that they weren’t helping people.
Can I come by?
He sent the text and waited for an answer.
Of course.
Simple. Direct. And yet in those two words, Shaye had conveyed so many things. That he was welcome in her home anytime. That it was a question he didn’t really have to ask. And that level of trust and caring meant the world to him, because he knew exactly what it cost her to give it. The emotional risks she’d taken by letting him into her life.
He directed his truck toward her apartment. The streets were quiet, and the drive didn’t take long. Despite the fact that most people were probably home for the nigh
t, he managed to find a parking space a couple buildings down from Shaye’s apartment, then headed up the sidewalk and knocked on her door. She must have been watching the security cameras, because the door swung open before he even lowered his hand.
She motioned him in, then pulled him in for a hug and a kiss after locking the door. “You look exhausted,” she said. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m not sure.”
She gave him a sympathetic look. “When was the last time you ate?”
He thought back to his day, trying to remember the last meal he’d had, but it was all a blur. “I’m not sure about that either.”
“Step into my kitchen. I have leftover enchiladas.”
“I will be your eternal slave.”
She laughed. “You better save that for my mother. She’s the cook, remember? I’m just the freeloader who scams leftovers off of her once a week.”
“How about I appreciate you both and take the two of you to a nice dinner sometime in the future when I’m sleeping like a normal human being again?”
“Deal.” She motioned to him to sit at the counter and pulled the enchiladas from the refrigerator. “It will only take a minute to nuke these. Beer?”
“Better not. I’ve still got to drive home and lack of sleep will make that hard enough.”
She pulled a beer from the refrigerator and put it in front of him. “I have a guest room with a perfectly good bed. And you have spare clothes and a toothbrush here. Drink the beer, have some dinner, and get some sleep.”
He’d slept at her house before, but usually on the couch, figuring it made her feel better to know he was another level of protection between her bedroom and the front door. But he was careful about pushing certain issues, and this level of intimacy was one of them. Their relationship was definitely progressing, and Jackson felt they were growing closer every day, but he also knew it would probably take Shaye a long time to be ready for certain things. And he was perfectly okay with that. The last thing he wanted to do was pressure her, even unintentionally.
But the thought of walking twenty feet and falling into bed was tempting. So tempting that he didn’t even try to force himself onto the other path. Instead, he opened the beer and took a drink. “I will gladly take you up on that offer.”
She reached across the island and squeezed his hand. “This is a tough one. Even if I didn’t know anything about what you do, I can see it in your expression and in the way you’re slumping. I’ve been where you are too many times before, just for different reasons. You need to sleep more than anything, and the one thing that always helped me sleep was knowing that Corrine was somewhere in the house with me. It’s comforting.”
He smiled at her and squeezed her hand. “That’s a lot of girlie sentiment coming from you.”
She smiled, probably because she knew he wanted her to. “Everyone needs a shoulder. Even if they’re not leaning on it.”
“Have I told you today what an incredible woman you are? Or how lucky I am to have you in my life?”
She leaned over the island and kissed him on the lips. “Then we’re the two luckiest people alive, because I feel the same way.”
“You think I’m an incredible woman?”
She laughed. “I think you’re a questionable comedian.”
The microwaved beeped and she pulled the steaming plate of food out and placed it in front of him. “Dig into that,” she said. “I’m going to put some clean linens on the bed.”
The smell of the food had his stomach clenching and he realized he was starving. He dug into the enchiladas, shoving a huge bite in his mouth, then closed his eyes in momentary appreciation. Corrine Archer was also an incredible woman, but she was an exceptional cook. Even her leftovers tasted like a five-star restaurant. He took another sip of beer, listening to the sound of Shaye’s bare feet on the hardwood floors and the creak of the linen closet as she pulled sheets out.
She was right. He could have gone home to his nice apartment and comfortable bed, but it wouldn’t have changed the fact that it was empty. Just knowing she was in the other room would make a difference. Hopefully, that difference would give him the edge he needed tomorrow.
AT 1:00 A.M., Cody Reynolds stepped inside his apartment and closed the door. The bar hadn’t been busy that night, so he’d made the decision to close at midnight. The owner left that up to the employee scheduled to handle close and so far, it had worked out well. No one wanted to lose money, so it was in the best interest of the closers to keep the place open if the tips were still flowing.
By the time he’d finished processing the last of the credit cards for the regulars, put away the things that had to be refrigerated, and done the host of other things that needed to be handled before he could lock up and leave, it had been twelve forty-five before he’d hopped on his motorcycle and headed home.
Now he paced his apartment, restless. He clenched his cell phone in his hand, wondering if he should make the call he’d wanted to make all night or if he should wait until the next morning. Finally, anxiety won out and he dialed. He probably wouldn’t get an answer anyway. He usually didn’t.
He was surprised when the call was answered on the second ring.
“Hey, I know you probably can’t talk,” Cody said, “but I had to let you know a PI showed up at the bar tonight asking questions about Caitlyn.”
There was no response, but he could hear breathing, so he continued.
“I told her what I told the cops, but I got to tell you, I don’t feel right about this. The PI was that Archer woman. The one from television. She could be a huge problem.”
His phone signaled an incoming text, and he realized it was coming from the same number he’d called.
Tomorrow 7 a.m. Metairie Cemetery. Same place.
“Okay then,” Cody said. “Tomorrow. But no jerking me around. That Archer woman is serious business. I’m thinking maybe we made a mistake.”
The call dropped, and Cody tossed the phone on the couch, then blew out a breath. For six years things had been quiet, and that was just the way he wanted it. The police had given up a long time ago, and he’d figured that was the last he’d ever hear about the missing woman. But now, the sister had hired a private investigator and not just any PI, but Shaye Archer.
Cody knew who Shaye Archer was. Hell, everyone in New Orleans knew about her. About her past and her recent exploits…taking down criminals who had avoided the police. She had unlimited resources and a chip on her shoulder the size of the Atlantic. She wasn’t going to let this go any more than she did any of the other so-called impossible cases she’d taken on.
And that worried him. Because he’d thought they were in the clear.
Even though she wasn’t there, he should have known Caitlyn would ruin everything.
It was what she’d always done best.
5
TUESDAY, February 16, 2016
French Quarter, New Orleans
SHAYE AWAKENED EARLY. Part of it was wanting to get started on the new case, but mostly, she knew it was because Jackson was sleeping in the next room. His head had started to bob before he’d even finished dinner, and she wondered if he’d taken the time to pull off more than his shoes before collapsing in bed. She wished she could do more for him, but a good meal and a soft bed were the requirements at the time. What he needed today was to find Brianna LeBlanc, and unfortunately, she had nothing to offer him in that regard except hope and an open-door policy for listening.
He'd said he would set his cell phone to wake him up, but he’d also mentioned being at work at seven and hoping he wouldn’t wake her. It was just past 6:00 a.m., and a short drive to the police station from her apartment. If he wasn’t up in thirty minutes, she’d poke her head in and get him moving.
She headed to the kitchen and put coffee on to brew, then did a quick check of her refrigerator to see what she had in the way of breakfast food. She was somewhat surprised to discover a carton of eggs that were still good and a new half gallon of m
ilk. There were four croissants left in the box she’d picked up from the bakery two days ago, and she always had cereal and Pop-Tarts. If he wanted his sugar in a more natural delivery form, she had pineapple and two mangoes. It wasn’t gourmet, but at least she could offer standard breakfast fare.
She reached for the television remote on the counter and turned on the TV to the morning news. The kidnapping case was the top news story, and she watched as a frustrated-looking Grayson gave some clipped comments to a reporter. Grayson, like Jackson, hated media attention. Some cops lived for the public accolades that came along with being the best at their job, but those two men didn’t fall remotely into that category. They did the work because they made a difference. They weren’t looking for anything more.
The creak of the guest room door let her know that Jackson was up and moving around, and a couple seconds later, she heard the shower fire up. She’d held off on a shower herself, not wanting to wake him. Besides, the luxury of being self-employed was not having to punch a time clock. She had plenty of time to shower and work on the invoices a bit more before heading out to try to get an interview with Carly Boudreaux.
The general social consensus was that it was rude to show up without calling, and if it were a social occasion, Shaye would have conformed to that rule, because that’s how Corrine raised her. But this wasn’t a pleasant chat with an old friend, and the one thing Shaye had learned quickly about investigating was that if you didn’t have an appointment, people didn’t have time to get a lie prepared. People also had a much harder time disguising a lie in person. It was far easier over the phone.
She’d looked up Carly’s address the night before and planned to head that way midmorning, arriving sometime around ten. That way, Carly should be up and moving around, but maybe not yet gone out on errands. If she wasn’t there, Shaye would hang around the area for a while and check back until she made contact. She had a stack of invoices and her laptop ready to go with her. If she was going to be stuck sitting in her SUV, she might as well get some work done.
