by S. A. Austin
He dialed her number.
She told him about the email and the flowers.
“Which florist sent them?”
“I don’t know,” she said, “I didn’t look at the label. My mind was elsewhere.”
“Do you mind looking at it now?”
“I’m sorry. How careless of me. I burned the box. Flowers, ribbon, and all.”
A moment of silence.
“I think it’s time for you to go somewhere safe. Someplace better than a hotel,” said Gary.
He brought a Rolodex closer to him. Searched for Laertes Sonnier’s number. After a brief conversation with his old friend on another phone line, he got back to her.
“Somebody I know and trust has agreed to let you stay at his place, BJ, but I’m sorry to say, you won’t be allowed to bring your dog. One of the detectives here, Dylan Dirck, is a serious animal lover. And he’s about to start a one-week vacation. He said he’s just going to hang around the house, so I’m fairly certain he’d be happy to take care of Tomi for you, and you won’t have to board him at the kennel again.”
“Sure, ask him,” she said.
Gary gave a heads up to several uniformed officers about where he’s taking Mrs. Donovan. Asked them to keep an eye on her if they patrolled the area.
Officer Jacob Wentzel wrote Sonnier’s address on the palm of his hand.
There’s a house in New Orleans, Northcutt said, which belongs to a renowned archeologist who’s out of the country for an indefinite stay. Sonnier had given Gary the key a long time ago with the request that the house and yard be inspected occasionally.
* * *
BJ Donovan didn’t care for her new accommodations.
Thank goodness she had her old standby. The new novel. She re-read the part where she’d left off before moving on.
Alma LeVeaux was quite inebriated when she called Detective Boutin, but she managed to get the words out without slurring her speech too much.
“I’m on my way,” he told her.
When he arrived at her door, he automatically tested the knob before knocking. Was somewhat dismayed to find Alma didn’t have it locked. He entered, looked back to see if he’d been followed. Standing still in the foyer, he tuned in to the sounds in the house.
Mick entered the living room. Alma sat cross-legged in the middle of the couch. Barefooted. Dressed in a red T-shirt and blue jeans. A little glass in her hand. Assured she’s okay, he poured himself a shot of tequila from an open bottle.
She put her glass down, and slumped against decorative pillows.
He dropped down on the cushion beside her. Knocked the drink back in one gulp, set his glass next to hers. He pulled her into his arms. Put his feet on the coffee table. Alma laid her head against him. He caressed her face and forehead.
“Nice. No one’s ever done that for me,” she said in a distinctly girlish way.
Mick gave her a light affectionate squeeze, leaned his head on the back of the couch, and stared at the ceiling. “Talk to me, baby. Tell me of all the events in your life that led up to you sitting in front of a computer trying to find someone to love you.”
She drew in a ragged breath to keep the anger out of her voice over that badly worded last sentence of his. “Rex isn’t the affectionate type. Every time I needed him to comfort me with a hug, he’d barely wrap his arms around me. Or he’d say I know what you need, nod his head at the bedroom door and wink at me.”
Mick tightened his arm around her.
“I’ve spent most of my life being shuffled from one doorstep to another. I lost myself in a fantasy world of books. They saved my life after years of physical and emotional abuse, having an empty belly most of the time, and living in abject poverty all of the time. I think I was seven when I was put into foster care. Chana, the oldest daughter of my foster parents, was a hateful, spoiled brat. She was jealous of my long hair, so she made her mama chop it off. Once a week, every week, Chana loved to force me to sit on the closet floor in her bedroom, put her shoes together with their mates, and line them up in a neat straight row. I didn’t understand why she needed so many pairs of shoes when she only had two feet.” Alma sat up. Sipped her drink.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“There isn’t anything to say. It happened,” said Alma. “I’ve learned to accept things as they are. I don’t care as much as I used to. All I want now is something, just some little thing, I can call my own. Something no one can ever take away from me. My whole life, every time I ever got something, I had to pay a price for it. I’ve never been able to ask and immediately receive. And when I did finally get whatever it was I wanted, somebody would either take it away or figure out how to spoil it for me. I’ve had to spend my life kissing ass just to keep people from messing with me. I’ve seen the worst the world has to offer, and little to none of the best. I don’t have a clue how it feels to be spoiled and pampered the way Chana was. To have someone wait on me hand and foot. Nor do I want to. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”
She flicked the tears off her face with her forefinger. Drained the glass, stared at its thick bottom. “Jeebus. I’ve spent a lifetime standing on the outside looking in,” she murmured more to herself than to him. “But not any more.”
“I can’t undo the harm that’s been done to you, but I can do everything within my power to try to keep anything else bad from happening to you. All my years as a cop, I’ve seen many women trapped in a world of misery, and left with nothing but unleashed anger. But you, Alma. You are different. I can’t explain it. I don’t think you realize how special you are. You’re not a nobody.”
Alma got up to fetch the bottle of tequila to keep from rolling her eyes in front of the dumb stupid idiot.
CHAPTER 43
Wrapped in Mick’s arms, Alma gazed longingly at him. He kissed her, easy at first, much more urgently as the heat spread. “Come with me.” She led the way to her bedroom. How victorious it would be to have another man on Rex’s side of the bed. To have another man’s essence warm the rumpled sheets.
They stopped midway into the room. Mick lifted off her T-shirt. Stepped back to see her better. Alma brought her hands up to cover her bare breasts.
Gary smiled. He took hold of her hands. “This is just between us. What we do behind closed doors is nobody’s business but ours. You don’t ever have to feel embarrassed with me.”
BJ paused to read the last paragraph. She had typed the name Gary in place of Mick.
She drank tequila, pondered the meaning of the misstep.
Recognized she needed a release. The handsome and charismatic homicide detective named Gary Northcutt could give it to her.
* * *
From the driveway of Sonnier’s house, Gary wondered if anything out of the ordinary had happened as he scanned the windows. BJ sounded strangely calm on the phone.
The minute he opened the door she threw her arms around his neck. He didn’t fight the feelings when she kissed him, or when she took him by the hand and led the way to the master bedroom. Drawing closer, Gary slowed his pace. The house belonged to someone else. Someone he’d known for a long time. BJ seemed to understand. She bypassed Sonnier’s room, and continued on to one of the other bedrooms.
He cupped the back of her head, pressed his lips hard against hers. She leaned in closer. Caressed his back. In a rush of emotion they tore at each other’s clothes. She wrestled with pulling his shirttail free. He fumbled with the buttons on her blouse. Stopped to kiss her madly. Falling backward onto the bed, she reveled in the sensations coursing through her. He stretched out beside her and she became completely uninhibited. Breath hot and moist. Bodies damp and sticky. She was all over him like a wild animal. Hot jolts of passion exploded within him, sweat burned his eyes and blurred his vision. Her calves cramping and a stitch in her side, panting heavily she moved away from him.
Gary stayed on his back, crossed an arm over his eyes, gasped for air. I haven’t made love like that since... since never. H
e looked at her. She’d fallen asleep. He turned toward her. Pushed back the hair from her face noticing the change in her features when she’s relaxed.
She’s beautiful and young and dangerous. An intriguing combination.
Lying with his cheek against her forehead, he closed his eyes. Fantasized about taking her to a cozy ski resort where they would cuddle up in front of a crackling fire with soft instrumental music playing in the background, and scented candles flickering shadows on the walls.
It was the one desire he never shared with his wife after learning she’s materialistic not romantic. He had a feeling Genette’s been seeing another man. How fitting it’d be if she had hooked up with BJ’s husband. The two deserved one another. Up until now, Gary had remained faithful. He is, or was, a one-woman man.
BJ had told him about Frank’s ongoing love affair with Isabella Jakson.
At first it angered him. Now he was grateful to the rat bastard. He never could’ve gotten this close to her if her husband had been treating her good. Damn, he never would’ve even known she existed if Donovan cared for her. As bad as he was toward her, though, she displayed a sense of loyalty to Frank.
Gary dozed off.
BJ got up. She brushed her long black curls in slow, measured strokes.
He opened his eyes a little. “Why do you wear the blond wig? You have beautiful hair.” He fell back asleep.
She stared at him by way of the mirror. “I want to stay in character until I finish my book.”
BJ deliberately let the brush fall on the dresser.
Gary fully woke up. “You okay?” He yawned. Sat up, looked at his wristwatch. Almost dinnertime. “A strange thing happened a while back that I meant to tell you about.” He shoved his legs into his trousers. “It was the night I left you at the hotel. Driving home I felt myself dozing off, and I couldn’t feel my foot on the gas pedal. Next thing I knew, I was about to veer off the side of the road. Before I plowed into the river this really big raven landed on the hood of my car. I stomped on the brake, and he flew up and away. I snapped out of the trance or whatever the hell I was in. The only part I can’t figure out is how I hurt my leg?”
“Edapo,” she whispered, angrily.
CHAPTER 44
Jacob steered close to the curb. Up the street, BJ Donovan was hiding out in a stranger’s house. He cut off his headlights. Hunkered down, he quickly made his way to the rear of Sonnier’s place, praying he didn’t encounter a dog.
Squatting below the kitchen window, he raised his head in time to see BJ lean across a handmade distressed wood and wrought iron table to set a cup and saucer in front of Northcutt. Long blond curls falling forward hid her face. Gary winked, smiled at her. Mouthed the words thank you. She barely paid attention as she nudged the sugar bowl closer to him.
“I didn’t know he was doing her.” Jacob thought Northcutt’s interest in her was only on a professional level. He got in his car, slouched down low in the driver’s seat. Alternated between watching the fading colors of sunset and Sonnier’s house. Fought the urge to have a smoke.
Less than fifteen minutes later, when he was about to call it a night, Donovan and Northcutt stepped out onto the porch. Jacob jerked his cap down lower on his brow.
Northcutt’s taking her somewhere else?
“Dammit.”
Why didn’t he share the information with the department?
“Because he’s doing her, dumbass.”
The couple sat in Northcutt’s car. Talking, Jacob guessed, since the vehicle wasn’t rocking side to side. He drove past them without drawing attention to himself. By the time he went around the subdivision and returned, the detective’s car was gone. BJ’s car wasn’t there when he first arrived, unless it’s in the garage, so he had no way of knowing if they had parted company in separate vehicles.
Jacob stayed in the street with the motor humming. Lamplight peeked through a slit in the drapes of Sonnier’s house. Rolling up to the garage door, it occurred to him that he didn’t notice if the living room light was on when they came outside.
Did they have a little love spat and say goodnight?
He advanced on the door. If BJ’s alone, he fully intended to carry out his plan of taking her to a hideaway of his own. She was his to bang not Northcutt’s. Jacob looked again at the windowless door of the garage. If she’s not alone he had a readymade excuse for being there, courtesy of Detective Northcutt.
He thumbed the lighted doorbell button a couple of times to no avail.
One hand on his hip, the other hand continually rubbing the back of his neck, he paced the painted concrete porch guesstimating where they might’ve gone. He snapped his fingers. Damn. He backed his car onto the street, went left. If Northcutt had gone to the right he would’ve seen him when he circled the neighborhood earlier.
Jacob accelerated. When he reached the stop sign at the far end of Sonnier’s street, he looked left, then right. He easily spotted the detective’s powder-blue Mustang beside a gas pump at the busy service station farther up ahead. BJ was in the passenger seat staring out the windshield. Jacob stayed where he was since there wasn’t any traffic at the moment. Northcutt turned left onto the main street, drove forward one block, then got in the right lane.
Left-right-left, Jeebus Christ, I feel like I’m back in the Army.
The Mustang’s right turn signal flickering, Jacob watched until Northcutt took the upcoming exit before following them.
The exit road tapered off and became flat again. He slowed down, giving Northcutt time to move out of his line of vision. Theirs were the only cars in the area in that short span of time.
Coming out of a long curve the road abruptly straightened. The taillights on the Mustang were nowhere to be seen. Jacob drove faster in order to close the gap.
Two more miles, he knew for certain there was no gap.
Gary Northcutt had gotten off the road.
Somewhere behind me.
He pulled over. His mind backpedaled.
Didn’t I pass a sign?
Cursing under his breath, Jacob retraced his steps, slowly scanning the side of the road. When he tracked down the frickin’ sign, he didn’t understand how he’d missed it. Damn thing was bigger than the broadside of a barn.
S.S. NATCHEZ
Dinner and Jazz Cruise
By the time he located the Mustang the riverboat carrying Northcutt and Donovan had already departed. Jacob slapped his forehead.
“Now what?”
CHAPTER 45
Gary saw a white envelope on his desk the instant he entered his office space. He hung up his overcoat. Fixed a cup of coffee. Taking a seat, he picked up the envelope and turned it around in his hand. Nothing other than To Gary scrawled across the center.
He stared at the envelope but saw himself smiling at BJ sitting across from him at a cozy table on the Natchez. She’d eaten most of her jambalaya. Finished all of her wine. He stood up, and extended his hand to her. Holding her tightly with his arm wrapped around her waist, he escorted her to the deck where a jazz band played. Skyline views of the city were beautiful. The cruise itself was very romantic.
Afterward, he took her to her house in the Garden District. Dropped her off so she could drive her own car back to Sonnier’s place.
He hoped she enjoyed the evening. The whole thing had been a last minute idea on his part. He assumed she needed a break from the Hell she lived in, but he wasn’t sure. Reading her was equivalent to trying to see through a thick slab of cold granite.
Gary removed the sheet of paper and held it open with both hands.
Hello Detective Northcutt,
So nice to see you’re on top of things, so to speak. Heehaw. Blonds really do have more fun, don’t they? I bet those movie star looks of yours come in real handy for getting the ladies. Am I right? Huh? Nah, I don’t care anything about you. I’m only interested in BJ Donovan. Soon, very soon, I’m coming face to face with the object of my affection. Too bad for you, but hey, that’s the way
the cookie crumbles. I’ll be in touch.
CU
No signature. The letter had been typed on a computer.
Gary smoked a cigarette, ignoring the voice in his head telling him not to.
CU, huh? I know enough about the internet to know that’s online lingo for ‘see you’.
“Cookie crumbles? When and where have I heard that dumb phrase before, as in recently?”
The more he tried to remember, the more elusive the memory.
He knew he had to turn the letter and the envelope over to the lab for fingerprint analysis, even though he was certain there’d be none. But he was reluctant for anyone at the department to know he’s having an affair with a married woman. A married woman who’s also in direct contact with a serial killer.
CHAPTER 46
Renee Yeager, a twenty-five-year-old petite blond rookie, handpicked by Captain Fortier, was his second choice to act as a decoy for the alley murderer. His first choice had been Dylan Dirck, but he’s working undercover on another assignment.
Yeager was posing as a sex worker named Trixie, and had dressed accordingly.
Northcutt and Cantin had arranged for her to have a unit on the first floor at the Riverside apartment complex near the wharf on Decatur. The building was in such a rundown condition the detectives were surprised the property hadn’t been condemned by the city. Good thing for them, because the place totally suited their purpose.
