Quarter to Midnight (A New Orleans Novel Book 1)

GABE SANK INTO one of the cushioned chairs in Burke’s conference room, feeling as achy as an old man. “How are you even still functional?” he asked Molly, who stood at the whiteboard in the conference room. Exactly where she’d been standing when he’d taken all the dishes to Burke’s horrible little kitchen to wash and put them away.

The cook in him could not leave a messy kitchen. Even one like Burke’s.

Burke had taken the Houston folks to his camp, wherever that was. Joy had bought them basic toiletries and promised to get them some clothes the next day.

Gabe and Molly had stayed behind because Burke didn’t have enough room for all of them. Which was a bit of a relief if Gabe was being honest.

He truly liked Xavier and his crew, but he needed some downtime to process everything that he’d learned that day.

It was a lot.

The office was very, very quiet and might have felt unsafe but for the arrival of the night security guard, who’d introduced himself only as Phin, before leaving to do his rounds. The man was scarily big and hulking—

clearly former military—and, while he didn’t scowl or frown, he exuded an undercurrent of tension that made the hair on the back of Gabe’s neck stand up straight and salute.

He had lots of questions about that guy, but Molly had simply greeted Phin with a smile and turned back to the whiteboard.

Gabe let himself take a moment to admire the way her curvy, round ass filled out her slacks—which looked exactly as crisp as they had that morning.

At this point, he was seriously wondering about her having witchcraft. The rest of them had been disheveled and exhausted, but she looked like she’d just had a nap and change of clothes.

She’d recopied their earlier notes and questions, but not in the same way.

The first draft had been a free-form, stream-of-consciousness effort. The board now looked like a starburst, questions, notes, and the names of people connected to the center—which was the unnamed victim of the murder Xavier had witnessed the night of his Katrina rescue.

“I’m tired,” Molly admitted. “But I needed to reorganize my thoughts, and this is the way I do it. I write it all down, then move stuff around until it starts to make sense. Everything connects. We just don’t know how yet.”

“What are our next steps?”

She capped the marker and took a step back to view the entire board. “I think my previous search of old police reports is a dead end.” She winced.

“Sorry. Poor choice of words.”

He waved the air. “Don’t be sorry. I know what you meant. I wish I’d known about this case of Dad’s. I never suspected a thing. I wonder if my mother did. I mean, she met Xavier and his mom, so she at least knew that Dad had met him that night during Katrina, but did she know about the murder?”

“Have you heard from your aunt Gigi yet? Maybe she can shed some light on things.”

“Not yet. I’ve left about a million messages and texts. I’m really worried.”

He rubbed his temples. “We were able to trace John Alan Industries back to her, so I’m thinking the bad guys—whoever they are—could have done the same. They could have killed her, just like Dad.”

Molly sat in the chair beside him. “Maybe she’s on vacation.”

“That’s entirely possible. She has a group of friends she travels with.

They’re pretty adventurous and sometimes go places where they don’t get phone service.”

“We can ask Antoine to try to trace her phone.”

“Ask Antoine,” a male voice said from behind them. “Everybody asks Antoine.”

They turned to see a man who looked so much like André Holmes that Gabe knew this was his brother. Plus, the way Molly was rolling her eyes at the man was another clue.

“You love being indispensable,” Molly said. “Don’t even try that put-upon crap with me.”

Antoine grinned, and there Gabe could easily see the difference between the brothers. André had been sober and, even when he smiled, he’d seemed burdened. Which wasn’t a shock considering he had a bad actor in his department who’d effectively helped the Paul Lott impersonator to escape.

Antoine, on the other hand, looked carefree and happy. And a little frenetic.

“Are you okay?” Gabe asked carefully.

Antoine chuckled. “I haven’t slept in nearly two days, so I’m a little . . . bouncy at the moment.”

“High on caffeine,” Molly stage-whispered.

“You wound me, Molly. But you’re right. I am well and truly buzzed from coffee and Mountain Dew.” Antoine joined them at the table, taking in the whiteboard in a glance. “I always like your diagrams. Burke called me with an update before he took the Houston folks to his camp, but you’ve organized it so much more clearly. You have a techie brain lurking under all that badassery.”

She smiled at Antoine, charmed.

And Gabe was charmed by her. She’d been the bright spot in the last two days.

“We haven’t bothered you,” she told Antoine. “Well, Burke might have, but I’ve let you work. All day. What can you tell me?”

Antoine stretched his arms toward the ceiling, then let his hands drop to his lap. “I got something off the victim’s laptop. I also discovered a few things on the SIM card you found.” He stopped abruptly. “Where are my manners? And where are your manners, Molly?” He stuck his hand out and Gabe shook it. “I’m Antoine Holmes. I do the geek stuff for Burke.”

“Gabe Hebert. My dad is . . .” He blew out a breath. “Was the victim.”

Antoine’s expression softened, making him look more like André. “I’m so sorry.”

Gabe still didn’t know what to say to people expressing their condolences.

“Thanks. But you found something?”

“I think so. The files were wiped, but traces of data remain. It’s like when Cookie Monster eats all the cookies and all that’s left is crumbs. You know it was a cookie. You might even know what kind of cookie, but reassembling the cookie might not be possible.”

“Shit,” Gabe murmured.

“Maybe not shit, but not a clear picture. Not yet, anyway.” He pulled a single folded sheet of paper from his shirt pocket, which also held an honest-to-God pocket protector filled with pens and mechanical pencils. He unfolded the paper and smoothed it on the table in front of him. “Your father was searching for a doctor.”

Gabe recoiled at the thought that his father had been so sick. “Because he had cancer.”

Antoine shook his head. “I found that contact on the SIM card from his phone. This was a different doctor. Not an oncologist. This was an ob-gyn.”

Gabe glanced at Molly, confused. “I don’t understand. Do you?”

She looked at the whiteboard. “I might. If we assume he was singularly focused on this case . . .” She uncapped the marker, and wrote something beneath the center of her diagram, which she’d labeled: MURDER VICTIM /

KATRINA.

She’d added: POSSIBLY PREGNANT?

Oh. “Someone murdered a pregnant woman.”

“Possibly,” Antoine said. “He’d been searching for this doctor for a while.

I found traces in his browser history from a year ago, but he seemed to have stepped up his search in the last few months.” He hesitated. “The heightened search started around the time of his first appointment with his oncologist.”

Gabe swallowed. “He was running out of time.”

Antoine’s nod was respectful. “You didn’t know he was sick?”

“He didn’t tell me.” And if he sounded angry about it, that would have to be okay. Still, he felt bad about snapping. “I’m sorry. Not your fault.”

Antoine held up his hands. “I’d be mad, too. In fact, after I get some sleep, I’m calling my parents and telling them if they ever consider keeping a secret like that, we will have words. Like, you know, please and thank you because my mother is scary when she’s in full-on mama mode and I’d be a damn fool to disrespect her. But . . .” He shrugged. “You take my point.”

Gabe almost laughed. He wondered what Antoine would be like on a full night’s sleep. “I do. And thank you. No, I didn’t know. I only know from the private autopsy that he had esophageal cancer that seemed to have progressed.”

Antoine visibly calmed, his voice becoming gentle. “He was stage three.

They were trying to shrink the mass before they did surgery. He’d had a round of chemo, but it wasn’t working. He was considering stopping, but he planned to push through for you.”

Gabe shuddered out a breath, grateful when Molly sat beside him and took his hand. “I wish he’d have told me.”

“I think he wanted to,” Antoine said with a sad smile. “I found some notes he’d written on his phone that looked like conversations he wanted to have with you. I’ll print them out for you. I think he was . . . practicing.”

Gabe’s eyes burned. “That sounds like Dad. He was a ‘measure twice, cut once’ kind of guy.”

“How do you know he planned to continue the chemo?” Molly asked.

“More notes on his phone. Pro/con lists. The ‘pro’ was reasons to stop, the ‘con’ was reasons to keep going. That was mostly you, Gabe, and this murder case. Which he simply called ‘Katrina.’ ”

That was something, at least. “Thank you,” Gabe murmured.

Antoine nodded. “I’ll keep looking for more stuff.”

“Can you track Rocky’s movements from his cell phone SIM card?”

Molly asked.

“Sorry, but no. He’d turned his location off in the settings. Smart of him, but bad for us. I can tell you that whoever wiped his laptop wasn’t a novice, but wasn’t a pro, either. I’ve found some nuggets of information, but it hasn’t been easy.”

“So they’re moderately tech savvy,” Molly said. “Good to know. We have to assume that they know by now that we’re investigating.”

“Yeah,” Antoine said. “Burke told me that you were followed from the restaurant yesterday afternoon and that it was an unmarked NOPD vehicle.”

Gabe swiveled to stare at her, mouth open. “What?”

She winced. “I didn’t want to upset you any further yesterday afternoon.

And then we got to your house and someone was trying to poison your dog . . .” She sighed. “Sorry.”

Gabe tried to calm his now-racing heart. “It’s okay. Just . . . I need to know this stuff, okay?”

She nodded. “Understood. I think that was the only thing I didn’t share.”

Antoine was watching them, a gleam in his dark eyes. “Molly?” he singsonged. He cast a deliberate glance at their joined hands. “Care to share with me?”

“No,” she said primly. “Need to know only. And you don’t need to know.”

But she didn’t let Gabe go, and that made him want to smile.

Antoine snickered. “Touché.” Then he sobered. “Okay, back to this. I found what might have been a search for a location. ‘Bayou’ is all I could recover.”

Molly groaned. “Like there aren’t a million place-names with ‘bayou’ in them.”

Antoine shrugged. “I know, I know. Just telling you what’s left on the drive. Which is really not that much.”

Molly frowned. “I’ve been thinking that Rocky wasn’t the one who wiped his own laptop. Whoever killed him wouldn’t have left the laptop behind unless they were sure it wouldn’t be useful, so it makes sense that they were the ones who wiped it. Could they have done that while the laptop was still in his house?”

“Sure. It takes a while, though. Couple of hours at least.”

She hummed under her breath. “So they were in Rocky’s house for a few hours or they took the laptop and brought it back when they killed him.”

“Makes sense to me,” Antoine said. “He also made several calls to a number in Montreal in the days before his death.”

“Aunt Gigi,” Gabe murmured.

Antoine nodded. “I traced the number to Gigi Gauthier. I don’t think he ever talked to her. The calls never lasted more than a minute and a half, so I think he was leaving messages.”

Anxiety and fear battled in Gabe’s gut. “I’ve been trying to reach her all day.”

“That was the number you wanted me to trace?” Antoine asked.

“Yes,” Molly said. “Can you?”

“Of course. The last time it seems like he actually connected with her was a week before he died. He sent her a text about his chemo. Said: ‘Sicker than a dog. How did Lili stand this for all those years?’ ”

Gabe felt a spurt of anger mix in with the anxiety and fear. “He told her, but not me.”

“For what it’s worth, she fussed at him—at least in the texts I saw,”

Antoine said. “Said he was doing wrong by keeping it from you.”

“She’d be right.” Gabe’s stomach was in knots every time he thought of his aunt. “Please, let her be on vacation.”

“I’ll see what I can dig up,” Antoine promised.

“So will I,” Molly added. “I can make cold calls to her neighbors if need be. I can even call her neighborhood police to do a wellness check.”

“Yeah,” Gabe said hoarsely, wishing that he’d thought to do that earlier.

“Let’s do that. The thought of her . . .” He trailed off, trying to erase the image of his aunt slumped over her kitchen table with an exit wound the size of his fist, just like his father had been.

Molly squeezed his hand. “Hey. You said she was a traveler. Let’s think of her on a sunny beach somewhere, okay?”

“She’s more likely to be climbing a mountain,” Gabe said, forcing a mental picture of Gigi in mountaineering gear over the gruesome imaginary picture of her being dead. “She’s feisty.” He braced himself. “What other calls did my dad make?”

“A few to his oncologist, a few to local businesses. One to the veterinarian.”

Gabe looked at Molly’s whiteboard. “Dad used his burner whenever he contacted Xavier, so none of those calls would show up. It never occurred to me to search Dad’s place for another phone. Was that what the vandals were looking for?”

“Possibly,” Molly said, her lips pursed. “If they found it, they’ve destroyed it, I’m sure.”

“Snipping loose ends,” Antoine agreed. “First Rocky, then the attempt to poison your dog to get to you, then the attempt on Xavier’s life, and finally the way that the Paul Lott wannabe tried herding Xavier to New Orleans for reasons still unknown.”

“But not good,” Molly said with a scowl.

“Not good at all.” Antoine rubbed his face with both palms. “I’m starting to wind down. I’m going to take a nap at my desk before I drive home.”

“Have Phin walk you out,” Molly said insistently.

“I will. He’s checked your truck for bugs and tracking devices. So far, nothing.”

“I’ve rented a car,” Molly said. “My truck is too visible and I’m afraid they’ll use the truck license number to find my car’s license number. I need to be able to move freely.”

Antoine made a sound of approval. “Be sure to charge it to Burke.”

“Already did,” she said with a quick grin, then sobered. “Is there any chatter about the guy who shot the cop and got away?”

“A little. Mostly concern for the wounded officer and vows to ‘make the bastard pay’ when they catch him. A few wondering who loosened his cuffs.

They got prints from the SUV the guy had stolen from Paul Lott.” He smiled like the Cheshire Cat. “And guess what they match?”

They looked at him blankly. “What?” Gabe asked.

“Oh.” Antoine gave his head a rueful little shake. “I got ahead of myself. I dusted the papers you retrieved from your father’s house last night. The only prints were his own, but I’ve got access to the prints taken from the walls by the Metairie sheriff’s people.” He didn’t offer how he’d gotten access, and Gabe didn’t ask. “I got your father’s prints from the autopsy report, and I got yours from a coffee cup you used yesterday, Gabe—I hope you’re okay with that—so that I could eliminate any prints you and your dad left. I found a few of Burke’s, too, but there was one that was different. It was near one of the holes in the wall.”

Holes made because someone was looking for something hidden in his father’s house.

Gabe sucked in a breath as he made the connection. “The print on my dad’s wall matches the ones left in Paul Lott’s SUV?”

“Ding, ding, ding!” Antoine grinned. “One and the same. Unfortunately, there were no prints on the meat that was used to hurt your dog.”

“He wore gloves,” Molly said. “I saw them on his hands when he was running away. What was the poison?”

“Rat poison. A lot of it.” He looked at Gabe. “I’m so glad your pup didn’t lick it. He would have been seriously sick. If he’d eaten it all, it would have killed him.”

“Bastards,” Gabe snarled. “Going after college kids and dogs.”

“And retired cops and their sons,” Molly said softly. “You are at risk, Gabe. Please do not forget that.”

Gabe hadn’t. Not for a moment. “I know.”

Antoine pushed to his feet, swaying a little. “Whoa, that was a head rush.

I am in serious caffeine decline. Gonna crash in my office for a while.”

Concern creased Molly’s brow. “Let us drive you home.”

“Nah. Phin’s here. I’ll be fine. I promise,” he added when she looked unconvinced. “I’ll even text you to let you know I’m home safe,” he added teasingly. “Mom.”

She rolled her eyes. “Hush. I wouldn’t be your mom for all the beignets in New Orleans. You must have been a handful as a kid.”

“And a half,” he agreed with a laugh. “Gabe, nice to meet you. When everything settles, I’m gonna come to your restaurant for more of that étouffée. Joy brought me some earlier, and it was fantastic. Almost as good as my mama’s, but I’ll never admit that to her.” He waved and ambled from the room.

Molly watched him go, still concerned. “I wish he’d let us take him home.

I’m going to make sure Phin checks on him.” She rose to take more photos of the whiteboard, then began erasing it away.

Gabe joined her to help because she had to be every bit as tired as he was.

“Tell me about Phin. He’s kind of . . . intimidating.”

“He can be. I’ve known him for about a year, and ninety-nine percent of the time he’s a sweetheart—a real pussycat.” She grimaced sadly. “It’s the one percent of the time that he’s a tiger you have to watch out for. He’s a vet.

He and Antoine served together in the army.”

“Antoine served, too?”

She nodded. “In Iraq. All Antoine would say was that Phin came home with a shitload of PTSD and guilt. Makes my heart hurt for him. I mean, most of us came home with issues, but Phin’s are . . . well, extra.” She retrieved a box of whiteboard cleaning wipes from a nearby shelf, pulled one free, and began scrubbing. “But nobody here is afraid of him. He’s good at knowing when he’s on the edge and takes a few days off. He does handyman work around the place during his security work at night. Our hours are so iffy that Burke wanted someone on-site for the times when we might be here alone.

Especially Antoine. He gets caught up when he’s working and might not hear anyone breaking in. We have an alarm system, but we do make enemies in our line of work. And Burke came into this business with a fair share of his own.”

“And you?” Gabe took one of the wipes to clean the board. “Did you bring enemies?”

“Not really. I left a few in North Carolina, but they’re more the type to spit on the ground when they say my name. Mostly my ex-brother-in-law’s family. They defended him even when they saw the tape of him shooting my father. Then there were Jake’s comrades.”

Gabe paused to look at her. Her profile was tense, her jaw tight.

“Comrades?”

“Jake was a cop. He had lots of pals in the local PD. A few of them reached out to me, said that they wished they’d ‘reined him in’ years before.

Most just hated me.” She sighed. “Including my boyfriend at the time, who was Jake’s best friend. He still blames me for killing Jake. I truly had not seen that coming. I thought he’d be supportive, but nope. So I guess I have enemies, but I don’t think they’d come here to hurt me. They do plenty of that whenever a reporter asks them questions, which still happens.”

“I’m sorry.” And he was. His heart hurt for what she’d lost. The pain of losing her father then having to end a life. He knew her well enough to know that she still felt guilt, even though she’d do it again. “I wish I could fix it.”

She smiled at him sadly. “And I’m grateful that you do. I wish I could fix this mess for you, too.”

His chest tightened, pain for what they’d each endured mixing with gratitude that she was here. With him. He stared down at her upturned face, gratitude becoming . . . need. He needed to take away the sadness in her eyes.

Needed to replace it with something else. Something more. Something so much better.

His skin warmed, his pulse beginning to race. He needed her. He thought she needed him, too. He continued to study her face, watched the pretty blush creep up her cheeks. Watched as her tongue stole out to moisten her lips, as her eyes grew heated, as she swallowed hard.

She felt it, too. Felt the air growing charged. Felt the connection between them.

The need.

Here in the quiet of this room. The quiet of this building, where they were alone except for Antoine and Phin. Still, she was holding herself back.

Because she’d be distracted if she let herself go. She’d be distracted and wouldn’t be able to guard him properly. He briefly considered asking Burke to give him another PI, just so she wouldn’t feel so conflicted, but that wasn’t right. She was the best person for this job, and he respected that.

He was about to step back when he thought, Antoine is here. And Phin.

He gripped her chin gently, careful not to hurt her. “Phin’s here.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“Phin’s here. He’s your night security, right?”

“Right,” she said slowly. “And?”

“Antoine said that he’d be fine with Phin here. We are, too, yes?”

Her wide eyes narrowed. “Yes. And?”

“If he’s responsible for keeping us all safe, then you’re not. Yes?”

Her brow furrowed in a slight frown. “I guess. And? ”

“And . . . if you get distracted, then I’m still safe.”

Her lips began to twitch, her eyes to sparkle, the sadness gone. “How might I be distracted?”

“If I kissed you. Tell me no, and I won’t.” He drew a breath, quietly exhaling. “But please don’t tell me no.”

She held his gaze, and he held his breath, waiting as she considered all the options. All the angles. Then she smiled and he felt nearly dizzy with it.

“Yes.”

Swamped with relief, he took her mouth the way he’d been wanting to since the first time she’d walked into the Choux. The box of wipes she’d been holding fell to the floor with a thud, and she wound her arms around his neck, kissing him back.

Exactly the way he’d hoped. Her mouth was lush and warm and . . .

smiling.

She was smiling as she kissed him and that made it even more perfect.

He wrapped his arms around her, his hands roving her back as the kiss grew heated and his body grew hard. Her soft, voluptuous breasts pressed against his chest, and he wondered how they’d feel in his hands. He wondered when she’d let him touch her the way he’d fantasized.

His hands slowed to long drags up and down her sides and she made a needy sound that brought an answering growl from deep in his chest. He was harder than he’d been in a long, long time.

He wanted her. Here and now.

He’d seen how capably she’d taken care of tense situations. He’d felt her compassion. Now he wanted to take care of her. He wanted to feel her passion.

He wanted to take her apart and see her pleasure. He slid his hands down her sides, toward her butt that he’d been admiring for two days. He wanted—

The clearing of a throat had them breaking apart like randy teenagers caught by the porch lamp. The hulking security guard stood in the doorway.

But a hint of a smile quirked his lips, making him seem a little less terrifying.

“Your rental car’s here,” Phin said and held out the keys. “I signed for it and checked it for bugs and tracking devices. It’s clean and parked inside the gate.”

Gabe had to swallow a snarl. It wasn’t Phin’s fault that he and Molly had been making out in the conference room. No, that’s all on me. And he had no regrets. For a few minutes, he hadn’t been thinking of bad guys or murder or his father’s suffering. He’d been utterly lost in her, and he couldn’t be either sorry or ashamed.

Panting softly, Molly lifted her chin, her cheeks now stained a bright pink that made Gabe absurdly proud of himself. “Thank you, Phin,” she said. “I appreciate you checking it.” She extended her hand, neatly catching the keys when Phin tossed them over.

“That’s my job,” he said, clearly uncomfortable with her thanks. “Do you have your sweeper so you can recheck for tracking devices?”

“In my bag. Oh, and Antoine’s gone to his office to sleep. Can you—”

“Watch over him?” Phin rumbled. “Of course. Where are you going?

Burke will want to know.”

“To my house in Mid-City,” Gabe said, but Molly shook her head.

“Tonight, we’re going to a hotel with good security. Burke already knows where. He made the reservation. I need to sleep, and Burke’s running out of people to stand guard.” She winked up at Gabe. “Don’t worry about your virtue. Burke got us adjoining rooms and used his ‘John Smith’ account.

Nobody will know that you’re there.”

Gabe considered arguing then realized she was taking care of him, just as she’d promised. And if he hoped that they wouldn’t be using both rooms?

Sue me. “Then let’s go.”

The Garden District, New Orleans, Louisiana

TUESDAY, JULY 26, 9:15 P.M.

Lamont made it back to his house, hot and sweaty and angry and . . . Yeah.

Not happy at all.

“Joelle?” he called, but got no answer.

Maybe she’d gone out. If so, he could find those damn cameras she’d planted in his office and the spare bedroom. If she really had. He still wasn’t sure that she wasn’t bluffing.

If she had been bluffing, he’d fallen for it, dammit.

He stalked straight to his office, tossing his coat onto a wingback chair that was older than the United States, an item that had been passed down through wife number one’s family. He turned on a single desk light, throwing the rest of the room into shadow, and turned to the bookshelf that hid his office safe.

He needed to contact that guard in the NOPD holding area. Now.

He’d pulled the books away from the shelf that hid the safe when the clearing of a throat had him whirling around, reaching for the pistol he kept in his desk drawer. His hand dropped when he saw his “partner” stepping from the shadows.

Goddamn him. “What are you doing here?” Lamont hissed.

Jackass looked unhappy. “We need to talk.”

Lamont shoved the books back onto the shelf and sat behind his desk, discreetly drawing the pistol from the drawer.

Not discreetly enough, because Jackass lifted an eyebrow. “Really, Monty?”

“You’re armed,” he pointed out.

“I’m on duty.” With a shrug, Jackass moved Lamont’s suit jacket and sat in the old wingback chair, facing him. “As I said, we need to talk.”

“Good. You can start by how you got in here.”

“Joelle let me in.”

So, his dear wife was here. He was surprised that she hadn’t answered when he called. He’d figured she’d be waiting at the door to gloat over

breaking up him and Ashley. “Let me see where Joelle is first. I don’t want her interrupting us.” He started to rise, but his partner waved him back.

“She’s asleep. Really, really asleep.”

Asleep as in dead? His eyes widened, hope in his heart. Maybe his partner was useful after all. He pretended to be upset. “Where? In her bed? What did you do?”

“On the living room sofa. You walked right by her. I drugged her so she’d sleep.”

“With what?” Lamont snapped.

“Same thing we gave Rocky. I roofied her. She won’t even remember that I was here.” Jackass frowned. “What did you think I meant?”

“I don’t know. You seem to be keeping a lot of secrets lately.”

A shrug. “The less you know, the less you could be forced to tell.”

“No. That’s not how this ‘partnership’ works. Who killed Lott and why?

And how did you get that bastard following Morrow free?”

“One of my men and one of my men,” he answered flippantly. “That’s all you need to know.”

Lamont ground his teeth. “Why did he kill Paul Lott?”

Jackass met his gaze directly. “Paul wanted more money to stay quiet.”

No surprise. Lamont had never trusted Paul Lott, the greedy little bastard.

He wasn’t sure why Jackass had, but the two of them had been close since high school. Lamont had considered Paul opportunistic and two-faced even then. As a teenager, Paul would’ve turned on them in a New York minute if he’d gotten scared or wanted to get in good with a teacher. He’d always been a little weasel. Now he was a dead little weasel.

“Thank you,” Lamont said levelly. “Now, how did ‘one of your men’

know to follow Xavier Morrow to New Orleans?”

Jackass’s smile was not nice. Not even a little bit. “Morrow called Lott, telling him that a man had tried to kill him. Luckily, my men were in Lott’s home office and intercepted the call.” His voice rose, hard as steel. “Turns out that Morrow shot his home intruder and ran. Stockman found him and failed to kill him, and you didn’t think I should know either of those things?”

Lamont took a page from Jackass’s book and ignored the question about his having kept Xavier’s location a secret. In hindsight, he’d been smart to do so. Looked like he and Jackass were both following their own agendas.

“I took care of Stockman. That’s all you need to know.” Flinging the man’s words back in his face felt entirely too good.

“Don’t be an asshole, Monty,” Jackass snarled. “I can bury you.”

“Do you plan to?” Lamont asked, remaining calm, even though his heart was pounding.

“No. I hadn’t even considered it until now.”

Years of experience had made Lamont an excellent lie detector, and Jackass was lying through his capped teeth. “Good to know. If you know so much, where is Xavier Morrow now?”

Jackass rolled his eyes. “Finally, you ask the right question. He’s with Broussard, but we lost them.”

“Fucking Broussard.”

“At least on that we can agree.”

“What about Rocky’s boy?” Lamont asked. “The chef? Did you torch them yet?”

Jackass made a sound of disgust. “We lost him and the lady PI, too. They didn’t go to Hebert’s house, we know that. I have someone watching the place. No point in torching Gabe’s house if he’s not in it.”

“Seems like we both have issues with our employees,” Lamont said mildly.

Jackass chuckled, his good humor seemingly restored. “How are you going to deal with Eckert?”

“I haven’t decided,” he lied smoothly. He’d stopped for a drink when he’d been halfway home and had decided exactly who he’d use to get rid of the hit man who’d allowed himself to get caught. “Do you have any suggestions?

Because if he talks and someone investigates, we’re both likely to catch some heat.”

Jackass’s eyes narrowed. “Only if you can’t hold your tongue.”

“True. But that was the purpose of this partnership, was it not? Both of us are motivated to keep the other safe. Now, answer my question. Do you have any suggestions?”

It would be better if Jackass made the arrangements. Then any snafus could be traced to him. Not me.

Jackass opened his mouth like he was going to rant, then drew a breath and smiled coldly. “I’m not doing your dirty work with Eckert. You’re on your own there. Figure it out yourself.”

It was worth a try. “Then why are you here?”

“We need to find Xavier Morrow. He’s got to have told the lady PI about what he saw by now. They got cozy at Broussard’s office today. Even had food delivered from Rocky’s kid’s restaurant. With all that time, Morrow’s got to have spilled everything.”

Lamont had already figured that out, minus the catering. “But if he’s dead, he can’t testify. It’ll just be hearsay. It might get rough for a while, I’m not gonna lie. I don’t relish the scandal, but there’s no way they’ll get a conviction without Morrow’s testimony. Not against me.” He’d be able to spin it. Somehow. “I’ve got too many allies in high places. Broussard can’t hurt me. He’s got no body. He’s got no anything. Except for Morrow. So I agree, he’s got to go. How are you planning to do it? Considering you’ve got all the men, after all.”

“So do you.” Jackass pointed to the bookshelf. “I’d bet my next paycheck that you’ve got a list right there in that safe.”

Lamont made a point of bringing his pistol closer, leaving his palm on the grip.

Jackass rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Monty. I’m not going to make you open it. You’ve gotten very paranoid lately.” He tilted his head. “Is that why you jumped from your car and ran through traffic like your ass was on fire tonight?”

Lamont drew a deep breath, rage bubbling up from his gut. “You were following me?”

“Of course.” Jackass smiled like a crocodile. “My man followed you all the way home. I couldn’t have you in danger, now could I? I was only protecting you.”

Liar. Liar. Liar. It was a very thinly veiled threat. “What about Morrow?”

The smile disappeared. “I’m getting access to all of Broussard’s real estate holdings. He’s hidden Morrow and his group somewhere, but I don’t know where. Do you know where he’s hiding them?”

“No. I never socialized with the man. I don’t know his hidey-holes. That would have been your domain.”

“Not so. Broussard kept to himself when he was on the force. I never spent time with him. Only Rocky did. And we can’t ask him.”

Lamont sat back in his chair, taking the gun with him. “Speaking of. How did Gabe Hebert know to hire a PI? Did he suspect that his father didn’t commit suicide? Did Paul Lott tell him? Or did Xavier Morrow contact him before this week?”

“I don’t know if the Morrow kid contacted Gabe Hebert before today or not. But Hebert definitely knows that his daddy didn’t kill himself. Rocky’s boy got himself a private autopsy.”

Lamont sucked in a shocked breath, gaping. “Fucking hell.”

Jackass nodded soberly. “Yep. That about covers it.”

“How do you know this?”

“The chef told his pretty cousin, who told her parents, and my mole in the restaurant overheard. My mole told me, and I investigated. Gabe suspected something weeks ago. When the coroner released Rocky’s body, Gabe just made it look like a cremation occurred. In reality, the body was sent from the funeral home to a private pathologist.”

“So the mortician had to know, too.”

“He did. He’s not around to say a word anymore.”

Relief coursed through him. “And the private pathologist?”

“She’s no longer a problem, either.”

Lamont was reluctantly impressed. “You’ve been busy today.”

“I have. It’s your turn now. I’ve cleaned up enough of your messes.”

“It’s in your best interest to do so,” Lamont reminded him mildly, trying to hide his trepidation. Yes, he’d made a mistake that night in Katrina. But Jackass had helped him get rid of her body, and in the years since, they’d assisted each other. Back and forth. And Jackass had never complained until now. “Covering up a murder—or multiple murders—plus aiding in the disposal of a body could become a real problem for you.”

Jackass narrowed his eyes. “Don’t push me, Monty. I swear you won’t like the consequences.” Lamont opened his mouth to reply, but Jackass barreled on. “Use your contacts to find out where Broussard is hiding the kid.

And for God’s sake, take care of Eckert before he has a chance to blab. He’s spittin’ mad and not nearly as good at hiding it as he used to be.”

Lamont drew a breath, his face burning with rage because a shiver of fear was slinking down his spine. He could make Jackass’s life difficult, but, if push came to shove, Jackass could put him in prison. Up until now, they’d scratched each other’s backs. Had helped each other up their respective ladders. It didn’t look like their mutually beneficial relationship would last much longer. He wondered when Jackass had turned on him, because this threat was new.

New and very serious.

Lamont forced his tone to remain calm. “I’ve got plans for Eckert, so you don’t need to worry about that. Tell me, what were your plans for Xavier once you got him to New Orleans?”

Jackass stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head. “Truthfully, I wasn’t sure. I was pretty angry when I found out that you’d found him. I wasn’t sure what your game was.”

Liar, Lamont thought, but smiled sadly. “I wanted to take care of him myself. So you weren’t liable for my ‘messes.’ ”

Jackass had the good grace to look uncomfortable. “I guess I can appreciate that. Just . . . don’t do it again, okay?”

“Okay.” It appeared that they’d achieved a détente of sorts, so Lamont pushed forward. “As for Broussard, he could be hiding Morrow in a hotel or something.”

“Maybe. We’re checking for any hotel activity on Broussard’s credit cards

—company and personal. So far, nada. But I know the man has a camp down the bayou. Rocky mentioned it once, then clammed up, like he knew he’d said too much. Broussard grew up in the swamp. He knows all the good places to hide. If he’s there, I’m betting he has it booby-trapped for any trespassers.”

Lamont shrugged. “Then we draw Broussard out. If he brings the Morrow kid with him, all the better. Twofer. But if it’s just Broussard, we can follow him back. Put a tracker on his vehicle.” Lamont considered all the possibilities, then he smiled when the perfect solution presented itself. “If Morrow’s told him what he saw all those years ago, then they’ll be trying to identify the victim. What if the victim’s ‘best friend’ or a ‘family member’

surfaces?” He used air quotes. “What if this person tells Broussard that she’s been targeted? Her life is at risk.” He nodded, the idea taking shape in his mind. “She makes up a name for the victim, which sends them off on a wild-goose chase. In the meantime, we’re tracking Broussard back to his hidey-hole.”

Jackass’s grin was very Grinch-like. “I like it. Who’s our femme fatale?

Has to be someone we can trust.”

“I know the perfect person. My former assistant, Ashley. She even looks like . . . you know. Her. ” Because Lamont had a type, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

“I know,” Jackass said dryly. “She-who-shall-not-be-named. The bitch who started all this.”

True enough. Nadia Hall. The name Lamont hadn’t spoken aloud since the night he’d killed her. “I’ll arrange for Ashley to contact Broussard.”

“There has to be a reasonable reason for her to surface now and an even more reasonable reason that she goes to Broussard,” Jackass cautioned.

“I’m aware,” Lamont snapped, then drew a breath to calm his mind.

Think, think, think. Oh. Okay. “What if Ashley claims to have gotten a visit from Rocky shortly before his death and she told him about her sister? Then Rocky gets murdered.”

“But why wouldn’t Ashley have contacted Broussard earlier?”

“Because someone hadn’t tried to kill her until now. She first reached out to Rocky, only to find he was dead. Rocky had told her if something happened and she couldn’t reach him, to call Broussard. So she does.”

“Did she-who-shall-not-be-named actually have a sister?”

“No. I asked.” Because Lamont preferred to keep mistresses with no family or friends. They were needy, always available, and, if they went missing, no one came looking for them. Nadia had declared that her family was dead, which had made her perfect.

She really had been perfect. He’d loved her, in fact. He’d actually gone to rescue her that night. She’d put off leaving until it was too late. The water had already covered the single-story houses on the street, forcing him to borrow Jackass’s boat to go save her.

And then she’d had to go and threaten to tell his first wife that she was pregnant. Nowadays, a scandal like that would be bad, but survivable. Back then, though, it would have been a disaster.

So he’d had to do it. Had to kill her. He’d figured she’d be counted as a flood fatality, but the water had never reached her bed. That had been a shock, seeing the house he’d taken as payment from a desperate client on the television, the upper-story windows still visible. Luckily, his former client’s name was still on the deed, but the house—and the body—still could have been traced to him.

So he’d had to go back and fetch her body. Jackass had gone with him the second time. Had helped him dispose of her afterward. And that had been that.

Problem resolved. Until Rocky Hebert had started sticking his nose into things that he should have left well enough alone. Looking for her doctor had been bad enough, but when they’d learned he’d set up a trust for a kid who’d supposedly died in Katrina? The old cop hadn’t given up on solving this case.

Too bad that his setting up the trust was what had led them to the kid. Ironic, that. In helping Xavier Morrow, Rocky had shined a spotlight on the one person whose testimony could have put Lamont away for murder.

“She didn’t have any family,” Lamont said, “so making up a sister will work. Nobody can disprove it.”

Jackass nodded. “I like it. It doesn’t have to hold water for long. Just long enough to flush out Broussard, who’ll eventually take us to the Morrow kid.

But what about your girl? Why would she agree?”

“I’ll tell her that this guy is suspected in a child endangerment case. That’s her trigger.”

“And if she tells?”

Lamont shrugged. “There are more Ashleys in the sea.”

Jackass frowned, worry creasing his brow. “Lamont, that . . . That doesn’t seem . . .” He hesitated. “Prudent.”

Lamont frowned back. “Of course it’s not prudent. I mean, we could sit here and do nothing and let that kid spill his guts. It would be a lot more damaging if he goes to the authorities—or, God forbid, the press—and tells his story. It’s far better if he dies before that can happen. Either way, if he’s dead, it’s just hearsay. No witness, no trial. So unless you have a better idea, we should use Ashley.”

Jackson narrowed his eyes. “And if she tells? Will you kill her, too?”

“Of course not.” Probably not. Not unless he didn’t have another choice.

“She’s not going to figure it out. She’s good with organization and spreadsheets, but she’s not the brightest bulb in the chandelier.” Which was how he preferred his women. “And if she does, I’ll say she was mistaken. So?

Unless you have a better idea?”

“No,” Jackson admitted. “I don’t.”

“Then I’ll get her to call Broussard first thing in the morning. Can your men follow him once we lure him out?”

“They can.”

“I want to be informed the moment they find Broussard’s hidey-hole.

None of this ‘That’s all you need to know’ shit.”

Jackass inclined his head. “Agreed. If you’ll do the same. No more keeping secrets, like the whereabouts of eyewitnesses.”

Lamont nodded. “Fair enough.”

Except that he’d totally keep his own secrets. Jackass had been lying when he’d said that he wasn’t sure what he’d do with Xavier. Bringing him all the way to New Orleans—with a minivan full of people—still didn’t make sense.

Unless . . . Shit.

Unless he planned to double-cross me all along. Having a live eyewitness to the murder of a woman during Katrina, a murder that Rocky Hebert had initially reported, would be quite the feather in his partner’s cap. It would be easy for him to twist the story, to paint Lamont in the worst light. Once he’d accused Lamont, any allegation that Jackass had been involved would seem like a weak attempt at revenge.

Whether Jackass had sent his men to Paul Lott’s house to purposefully get information on Xavier or if it really had been a coincidence didn’t really matter. Jackass had been planning to take advantage of the situation.

At least now neither of them had the kid, so they still had reason to work together.

But afterward . . . Looks like I’ll be hiring more than a hit man from my list. I need eyes on Jackass’s men. Whoever they are.

“Thank you,” Lamont said, knowing that he sounded sincere. He’d practiced that tone over the years. It was damn near perfect. “I appreciate you helping me out of this mess.”

Jackass shrugged. “We all make mistakes. I’m just glad you’ve learned to wear a condom since then so we haven’t had to clean up any other pregnant mistresses.”

Lamont smiled tightly. Condescending asshole. Jackass hadn’t worn a condom with his mistress. At least I don’t have a bastard kid running around out there somewhere. “I promise. Shall we touch base tomorrow?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Jackass got up and straightened his suit coat. “I’ll let you get back to your list, Monty. I can show myself out.”

Lamont rose, pocketing the handgun in a move that he meant for his partner to see. No fucking way was he letting this viper walk through his home unattended. He’d probably plant a bug or something. If he hadn’t already. Fucking hell. “I’ll walk you. It’s only civilized, after all.”