Quarter to Midnight (A New Orleans Novel Book 1)

Hey, Lamont?”

Lamont looked up from his office computer with a glare, discreetly closing the overnight police reports he’d been studying. No news was good news at this point. Ashley still hadn’t been identified. “Yes, Jean-Pierre?” He tried not to say the man’s name sardonically. Didn’t seem like he’d managed it, though, because the other man’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Ashley didn’t come into work again today. I was wondering if you’ve heard from her.”

“I sure haven’t,” Lamont drawled. “Why would she be calling me?”

Jean-Pierre shrugged. “I figured if she was sick or something, she’d have your number in her favorites. I never got a chance to give her my personal cell phone number that first day.”

Huh.He’d forgotten that Ashley had only been gone from his office for a day before her unfortunate end. “Well, she didn’t call me. If she does, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Jean-Pierre frowned. “Dammit. I hope this doesn’t mean that I’ll have to find a new assistant. Could she have just run off? Did she have a boyfriend or anything?”

Only me.“If she did, I didn’t know about it. We weren’t really that close.” And once their relationship did come out, no one would blame him for lying. No one shouted the news of a secret mistress from the rafters, after all.

“Thank you.” Disgruntled, Jean-Pierre muttered a goodbye to Carrie in the outer office before the door closed behind him.

“Sorry, sir.” Carrie appeared in the doorway, her tablet in one hand. “I tried to get him to leave you alone, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“It’s fine, Carrie. He can be a bit persistent. If he gives you trouble, report him to HR.”

“Oh, he never gives me trouble. I was concerned that he was annoying you. I have your schedule for the day. Should I send it to your email?”

“That would be perfect. Do I still have that two thirty meeting with Mr. Proctor?” He’d better. It was an important part of his plan for Joelle.

“You do. His assistant called to confirm just a few minutes ago. Can I get you anything?”

“A coffee from that shop next door would be amazing, if you don’t mind. I’m afraid I didn’t get too much sleep last night.”

“Of course I don’t mind.” She tilted her head, the picture of concern. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh, you know how it is. My wife is a little annoyed with me right now, and I was banished to the couch.” That wasn’t true, but it would be a nice setup for later. “We’re having a few issues at the moment.”

Carrie’s eyes blinked wide. She was trying to look genuinely upset on his behalf, but he didn’t miss the glitter of interest of the gossipy type. And maybe the slightest bit of interest of the lusty type. “Should I send her some flowers from you?”

He nodded. “That would be really nice. Again, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” she assured him. “I’ll be back in a few with your coffee.”

He waited until he heard the outer door close before getting up and checking that she was really gone. Carrie was the type to gossip his business to every willing ear. Which would ordinarily be an issue, but he planned to use her little flaw for his own purposes.

She was gone, and he firmly closed his office door before returning to his desk and dialing Cresswell.

The cop answered on the second ring. “Lamont. What’s up?”

“Just checking to see if there’s any news on Mule’s killer.”

Cresswell sighed. “Nothing new. We’ve checked all of Mule’s cases, open and closed, for the past few years to see if the shooter’s body size matches anyone he was investigating. So far, just about everyone matches the shooter’s body type, so we got nothing there. We’ve been gathering Mule’s cell phone records, checking voiceprints on the shooter, trying to dissect that video. You know, all the usual stuff.”

Voiceprints on the shooter? Shit. Why didn’t I keep my big mouth shut? Lamont cleared his throat to keep his voice steady. “You gettin’ anything from that video?”

“Not yet. The guy’s face simply isn’t visible, and the tech guys haven’t been able to clear it up. We’re also checking connections to the five guys killed the other night—y’know, the guys breaking into that PI’s apartment and the restaurant owner’s place.”

He’d expected this, but it still got his pulse racing. “I read about that.”

“Yeah. They connected the two break-ins. The common denominator is Gabe Hebert, the guy that owns that restaurant in the Quarter. Le Petit Choux. The PI is his girlfriend, apparently. The other lady is his cousin and the co-owner of the restaurant. They must have expected trouble, because they had bodyguards stationed at both places. Of course, there’s another common denominator.” Cresswell paused dramatically but said no more.

“Which is?” Lamont asked, trying not to sound annoyed.

“Rocky Hebert, a retired cop. Did you know him?”

Be cool. Be cool.“I know of him. He died recently, didn’t he?”

“Shot himself in the fool head, the asshole.” Cresswell tsked. “He worked for me for a few years—right up till his retirement. Not a bad cop, most of the time. He had an alcohol problem, though. Supposedly got sober, but… boom. Ate his gun. Guess he wasn’t enjoying his retirement overly much. His boy, Gabe, didn’t believe his father killed himself.”

“Does the family ever believe such a thing?”

“I expect not. But then, you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

Lamont scowled. It wasn’t often that someone brought up wife number one. Lucille had shot herself one night after getting wasted. Or at least that was how he’d staged the scene. Presto chango, he’d become a wealthy man.

“No family member should have to endure the suicide of a loved one,” Lamont said quietly, hoping that Cresswell felt guilty. “It’s a terrible tragedy for everyone. A terrible loss.”

There was a beat of silence. “I apologize,” Cresswell said stiffly. “That was unkind of me.”

“It kind of was. I hope that Gabe Hebert is able to find some peace.” Eternal peace, that is.

“I don’t know. Nobody had seen him for a few days before they brought him in for questioning yesterday morning.”

And if Lamont had known that, he could have taken care of him then and there. The lack of communication irritated him. “Where had he been before yesterday?” he asked.

“He’d taken leave from his restaurant. Said he needed ‘time to process’ his daddy’s passin’.” Cresswell’s air quotes were audible.

“You don’t believe him?”

“No. I think he believes that somebody killed his father. I think he’s investigating.”

No shit, Sherlock.He and Mule had known that since Monday. “Has he found anything?”

“Nothing so far. Or, leastways, nothing he’s sharing. He got a private autopsy done on his father. Did you hear about the lady pathologist getting killed? Out in Baton Rouge?”

“I think so. Her lab was burned up, wasn’t it? BRPD thought it was vandalism.”

“That’s what they said. But she was the pathologist who did Rocky’s secret private autopsy.”

Lamont knew all about it, of course. Killing the pathologist had been Mule’s handiwork. But he hadn’t been informed through official channels and that was… troubling. He’d have to find out why.

They can’t suspect me.

Unless Mule told someone what he was up to, and he didn’t think that was likely.

“What about the guy who was arrested for breaking into the PI’s apartment? Is he talking?” Lamont hoped not. Depending on what Mule had told his bastard son, Tobin could destroy him.

“Not yet,” Cresswell said. “But I expect that he will. So far, nobody knows how he connects to Mule, but we’ll figure it out.”

Lamont swallowed his sigh of relief. He’d have to make sure Tobin didn’t talk, but that could wait. “What about the remains that were found near Mule’s body?”

“The lady? All that was left on land was her head. Divers went in after the rest of her. Found her torso at the water’s bottom, weighted down with a brick. It wasn’t in terrible shape, but the gators had been snackin’. They found a finger, but it no longer had any usable prints. The rest appears to be digesting in a gator’s belly.”

“How… unpleasant.” But just as he’d hoped. “Have they identified her?”

“Not yet. Look, I don’t mind you callin’, but I’m not telling you anything your office doesn’t already know. You should talk to the ADA on the case.”

Lamont frowned. “And who is that?” He’d planned to claim the case himself. No better way to steer the court proceedings the way he wanted them to go.

“It’s that new guy from up north. You know, Cardozo.”

Lamont’s mouth fell open, then shock gave way to anger. “Cardozo? Jean-Pierre Cardozo is the prosecutor you’re working with?” That smarmy, New York City sonofabitch.

“Well, yeah, that’s him. I figured you knew.” But there was a smugness in Cresswell’s tone, a you’re-out-of-the-loop glee that made Lamont’s anger boil even hotter. “Maybe they’re giving you a break. Lettin’ you grieve. You know, since you and Mule were friends. You’d probably have to recuse yourself, anyway.”

“That’s true,” he said, feigning acceptance. “I didn’t think of it that way.”

“Well, don’t fret over it. You’ve got bigger fish to fry anyway, don’t you? I saw you with Lyle Nelson a few nights ago. He’s got deep pockets. Useful for someone considering a run for office.”

Lamont didn’t mind that people were gossiping about that. Publicity was always helpful for a nascent campaign. “Little birds have been squawking.”

Cresswell chuckled. “You know how it goes in this town. Nobody keeps a secret for long.”

Unless everyone who knows it is dead.“True, true. Listen, I’m gonna let you go. I have a meeting I have to get ready for and I know you’re busy investigating Mule’s death.”

“Sure. I hope you weren’t offended about me telling you to ask Cardozo for intel. If he’s got his head up his ass and won’t share, you come on back to me, now. Y’hear?”

“Absolutely,” he promised, then hung up.

Cardozo had to know about Ashley, that she was the dead woman from yesterday morning. He would have been shown the photos, if not the remains themselves. Yet he’s come by two days in a row to check with me.

“Or to check on me,” he muttered aloud, rubbing his temples. This was like a game of whack-a-mole. No sooner had he taken care of one threat than another one popped up.

But nobody could connect Ashley’s death to him. Not once Joelle was dead.

He snapped his fingers as a thought popped into his mind. Silver paper. He had to buy more presents and wrap them with silver paper so that no one—specifically James or the building’s surveillance footage—could connect him to the boxes in yesterday’s stolen car. And if anyone did make the connection, he’d say that he always used silver paper to wrap gifts for his wife. That she’d instructed the hit man she’d hired to wrap the boxes with Ashley’s remains the same way.

To frame me.Yes, that was exactly the tale he’d spin.

Hell, it actually sounded like something that Joelle would do. She wasn’t stupid, for sure. And she had been a woman scorned. Anyone mildly acquainted with her knew that she had a vindictive streak a mile wide. That she’d come up with such a plan wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

He’d get through the work on his agenda, then leave early for his two thirty meeting, because he was going to walk. It wasn’t far, and he didn’t want James to know where he was, in case his driver was questioned by the cops. The two thirty meeting was blocked for two hours but wouldn’t last more than one. That would give him time to get the replacement gifts, more boxes, and more silver paper on his way home—where he’d set Joelle’s “suicide” in motion.

Then he’d walk back to the office, clean up, and change clothes, after which an argumentative phone call between him and Joelle would happen to be overheard, establishing an alibi for the time of her death. Then he’d be ready for James to take him to his seven o’clock dinner meeting at the Monteleone.

He’d go directly home afterward, where he’d find his dearly departed wife’s body—along with her guilt-ridden suicide note claiming responsibility for the death of Ashley Resnick.

He’d have to ride out the sex scandal of having had a mistress and a wife who’d murdered said mistress, but that was better than being charged with murder himself. And to avoid that, he needed to eliminate the one person who could still point a finger at him. The one person who’d seen him with Nadia. Who’d seen his scar. Once Xavier Morrow was gone, he was in the clear, once and for all.

Baton Rouge, Louisiana

FRIDAY, JULY 29, 2:30 P.M.

“Hey,” Xavier murmured. “You okay?”

Gabe turned from staring out the back-seat window of Burke’s Escalade to find the younger man studying him with a worried expression. “I’m okay. It’s just that the last time I was in Baton Rouge, it was to consult with Dr. McLain about Dad’s autopsy.”

Xavier’s expression changed from worried to pained. “Her death is not your fault. You know that, right?”

He smiled tightly. “Keep on saying that. I might eventually believe you.”

In the front seat, Molly was driving, and Burke was giving her directions to the UPS store where Xavier had his mailbox. “Turn left at the next light.”

Bringing Xavier with them had been a last-minute call on Burke’s part. It had involved a lengthy, intense conversation among their group, weighing the pros and cons.

The major “con” was that Xavier would be leaving the safety of Burke’s camp after having successfully hidden there for days.

The major “pro” was also a function of keeping Xavier safe. If they went to the box without him but found that they needed Xavier to retrieve the contents, they’d have to return with him later. If Ducote had someone watching the box, they’d report back to him that Burke and Molly had tried to collect its contents, which would give Ducote the heads-up that Xavier would be returning soon. He could have someone waiting to kill Xavier on the return trip.

Adding to the “pro” column was their ability to disguise Xavier so that his own mother didn’t recognize him. Antoine had provided a pair of mirrored sunglasses and the wig of braids that he used when doing undercover work for Burke. Combined with Xavier’s five-day scruff and a ball cap, he looked different enough that they’d finally agreed that having Xavier accompany them now when they had the element of surprise was better than having him go to Baton Rouge later when someone might be waiting for him.

Everyone had agreed except for Cicely Morrow, who’d left Burke’s living room, lips pursed, tears coursing down her face.

So they’d all gotten into Burke’s boat with heavy hearts. Nobody liked leaving Cicely when she was so upset, but Willa Mae had assured them that she’d take care of things.

Sure enough, Xavier had received a text from Cicely when they were halfway to Baton Rouge, telling him to be careful and that she loved him. That had lightened the tension a little bit.

Until they’d entered the city limits. Now Gabe was so tense that he wanted to run, to scream, to do anything but simply sit and wait.

Molly pulled into a parking space in front of the UPS store, and Burke turned so that he could see Gabe and Xavier in the back seat. “I’m going in first,” Burke said, reminding them of their plan. “If there’s something in the box itself, I’m coming straight back here and we’ll leave. If the box is empty, I’ll ask the clerk behind the counter if they’re holding any bigger packages in the back. If he needs you to show ID, I’ll come back to get you. Otherwise, you guys stay in the vehicle with your heads down. Got it?”

“Got it,” Xavier said, but he was clearly nervous despite being adamant that they bring him along. “You have my keys, right?”

“I do,” Burke confirmed. “You gave them to me before we left. Molly, keep the engine running and if anything looks suspicious—anything at all—you hightail it out of here. Leave me here. I’ll be okay and I’ll meet up with you later.”

“Got it,” Molly said. “Just get this over with, Burke, before we all explode from the stress.”

Burke obeyed, getting out of the Escalade and entering the UPS store.

“This has to be over soon,” Gabe muttered. He was so tired. He needed his life back. He needed to know that his father’s killer would pay.

“Your mouth, God’s ears,” Xavier said quietly, his face obscured by his newfound braids.

“Molly, has Burke heard from André?” Gabe asked, even though he knew the answer, because he’d already asked several times.

“Not since Burke told him about our discovering Ducote through Nadia’s dog,” Molly said patiently, just as she had each time before.

“Sorry,” he muttered. Burke had called André while Gabe had been sleeping. After my breakdown. Which was still humiliating. But no one had mentioned it, which he appreciated.

“Don’t be,” she said. “I’ve bugged Burke about it, too. So has Xavier.”

Apparently, André had been hesitant to believe that Ducote was their killer but promised to make some “discreet inquiries.” Whatever the hell that meant.

Then she sucked in a breath. “Burke took something out of the box. He’s on his way back.”

“I wonder what it is,” Xavier whispered.

But no one answered him. They were all holding their breath until Burke got back into the Escalade, his mouth tight.

“An envelope for you, Xavier. There’s something small in it, feels like hard plastic.”

“Where is it?” Molly asked excitedly.

“In my pocket. I don’t want to open it here. That guy at the counter was too damn curious. He started texting on his phone the minute I opened your box. Molly, drive us somewhere where we’re out of sight.”

Molly obeyed, driving to the other side of the street, then winding around to the back of another strip mall before parking.

“Give me a minute and we’ll open it.” Burke got out, opened the hatch of the SUV, and rummaged in the back. “Found it.”

“Found what?” Gabe demanded, trying so hard to be patient.

“A faraday bag,” Molly said as Burke slid back into the passenger seat.

“What’s that?” Xavier asked.

Burke pulled on a pair of disposable gloves then held up a black pouch that looked like a case for eyeglasses. “This is a faraday bag. I think someone sent you a tracking device. A faraday bag blocks the GPS signals, so whoever sent it can’t use it to find you, Xavier.”

Gabe and Xavier leaned forward so that they could watch as Burke slit the envelope open with his pocketknife.

“Where do you even get one of those faraday bags?” Xavier asked.

Burke looked up briefly, smirking. “Amazon.”

Xavier gave him a don’t-fuck-with-me look. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Molly confirmed. “We all carry them. Y’know, just in case.”

Burke held up a small box, the size that might hold a ring. “The letter enclosed is signed ‘P.L.’ But it doesn’t have Lott’s letterhead on it. It says, ‘Rocky wanted you to have this. Open it right away.’ ”

Xavier’s voice trembled. “I probably would have taken it home to open it if I’d known it was here.”

“Why didn’t Lott put it on letterhead?” Gabe asked, then shook his head at himself. “He didn’t want anything to connect him to Xavier’s murder, assuming that was what would’ve happened next.”

“Fuck,” Xavier whispered. “I’m so glad I didn’t come back here to check.”

Molly was studying Burke. “You’re disappointed. Why?”

Burke shrugged. “I was kind of hoping that Rocky had sent something to Xavier. Something that would explain all of this.”

“But a letter from Rocky would have arrived before Paul Lott’s letter with information about his inheritance,” Molly said carefully.

Burke exhaled slowly. “I know. But there’s still Gabe’s mysterious aunt Gigi, who knew about John Alan Industries and who Rocky seemed to be confiding in. I’d hoped he’d given her something that could help us. I knew it was a long shot, but I’d still hoped.”

As disappointed as Gabe was that the package wasn’t from Gigi, at least he knew where his aunt was. Antoine had found that she’d used her credit card to buy souvenirs in Grand Cayman that morning and in Panama three days before that. They’d sent an urgent message to Gigi through the offices of any ship whose itinerary fit, but so far, they’d heard nothing.

Burke reached over his seat to give Xavier his keys. “This package does support our theory that Paul Lott didn’t know where you actually live. It still doesn’t explain how the intruder knew where to find you, though.”

Xavier took the keys and bounced them in his hand. “So, we’ve got nothing new.”

“Basically,” Burke said glumly. “Next stop, Joelle Ducote?”

“Sounds right,” Molly said. “After we take Xavier back to your camp.”

But Gabe wasn’t listening, unable to stop staring at the keys in Xavier’s hand.

Or, more specifically, the key ring. “What is that on your key ring, Xavier?”

Xavier stopped bouncing the keys and held them up so that Gabe could see. “An angel. Your dad gave it to me about a month before he died. I wondered about it at the time, but when I heard that he had cancer, I realized that it was his way of saying goodbye.”

“Can I see it?” Gabe asked, because he had seen the angel before. Or one just like it.

“Sure.” Xavier handed him the keys, then made a pained face. “If you want the angel back, it’s okay. It was your dad’s, after all.”

“No,” Gabe said faintly. “He gave this to you. Besides, I’ve got one. Dad gave it to me, also a few weeks before he died. I’d forgotten about it.” He ran his fingers over the ceramic angel, his heart in his throat. It was less than two inches tall, painted with an off-white glittery paint. “My mom made this. It was when she was in remission. She’d done some pottery in the past and wanted to do something fun. She made a few of these angels, intending to paint them, to make them into Christmas tree ornaments. But she never got the chance to paint them because she got sick again. She died not long after that. Dad had one of the angels painted for me. He must have done the same for you.”

The knowledge of which warmed him but caused a sharp little spear of dismay at the same time. His father had considered Xavier to be a second son but had never felt safe enough to bring the two parts of his life together.

“It has an inscription on the bottom,” Xavier said sadly. “ ‘Reach for the stars, mon ange.’ ”

Startled, Gabe looked up to meet Xavier’s gaze. “Mon ange? He called you mon ange?”

“Not recently. He called me mon ange when he was trying to settle me into the boat, the night he saved me—because I told him that my name was Angel. My birth mom called me that, too. I’d nearly forgotten until I saw what the angel said.” Xavier’s lips trembled up into the smallest of smiles. “It meant a lot that he remembered.”

Gabe glanced at Molly, who’d leaned around her seat and was watching him with a worried frown. Probably because his tension had just ratcheted through the damn roof. “What’s wrong, Gabe?”

He swallowed. “My dad called me mon ange when I was little, too—because my name is Gabriel. But he stopped when I was thirteen. I told him it was a baby name. He didn’t call me that again until the night he died. He sent me a text.” He pulled out his phone, going to the text thread he’d shared with his father. “See? He sent it at a quarter to midnight, right before he was killed.”

Hope you’re having a good night, mon ange. Love you, son.

Molly sucked in a breath. “It has to mean something. Can I see that angel?”

Gabe handed it over and Molly turned on her cell phone’s flashlight, shining it on the base. “There’s a crack around the base, but it’s been glued and covered with paint,” she said, shaking it lightly. “Could he have put something in here? Burke, do you have your Swiss army knife?”

Xavier frowned. “What the hell? You’re going to break my angel?”

“I’m going to open it up,” Molly said, taking the knife Burke handed her. “I’ll be careful.”

“Please do. It’s…” Xavier faltered. “It’s the only thing I have to remember him by. We never even took a photo together. He said that it wasn’t safe.”

“I promise,” she said. “Burke, hold my phone and shine the light on the angel?” She bent her head, her gaze fixed on what she was doing. She poked the blade’s edge around the hairline crack, prodding it along the circle, over and over again until the crack completely broke and the base fell into the angel’s body.

Actually, it was kind of hovering there, even though it was small enough to have fallen inside.

“Cotton,” she said. “Rocky filled this thing with cotton. I wish I had tweezers.”

“There’s a pair inside the handle,” Burke said. “Let me get them for you.”

“No, I got it,” Molly said, sliding the tweezers free. “Wow, this is a nice knife, Burke.”

“Always need good tools,” Burke muttered. “Hurry up.”

“Be patient,” she murmured, first grabbing the base with the tweezers and lifting it out, then digging out the cotton. “Oh,” she breathed as she upended the angel over her palm.

Something small and black lay in her hand.

Gabe had to clear his throat to speak. “A thumb drive?”

“Yep.” She looked up with a grin. “This is what Rocky wanted you to find, Gabe. I have my laptop. Let’s see what’s on this thing.”

“It might not be safe,” Burke cautioned.

She scoffed. “You want to wait an hour and a half to get Antoine to read it? My laptop’s backed up to the cloud. I’ll turn off my network connection, so no one can hack in. If there’s a nasty virus on this thing, I can get a new laptop and recover my data later.”

Burke nodded once. “Do it.”

Quickly Molly pulled her laptop from her handbag. “Turning off the internet and…” She plugged the thumb drive into a USB drive. “One file,” she said and clicked. Then frowned. “Well, fuck a duck.” She looked up, her expression totally frustrated. “It says, ‘Find Gabe at Le Petit Choux, mon ange.’ ”

“That’s where my angel is,” Gabe said, his head spinning. “In my desk drawer at the Choux.” He ground his teeth. “At least I hope it’s still there. With Donna Lee’s betrayal, who knows?”

He still hadn’t processed any of that. The woman whom he’d called his friend had been questioned and released, but André had promised that a trusted officer was watching her in case she tried to flee. They weren’t sure what to charge her with just yet but were angling toward conspiracy. That meant the cops and the district attorney had to pull all the details together first, to show that a conspiracy existed. That all of these events connected together. He only hoped that Donna Lee would get her comeuppance. And he was petty enough to hope that her husband found out about her affair and left her, on top of whatever legal issues she now had.

Not now.He pushed thoughts of Donna Lee from his mind. They’d closed the Choux for the weekend, saying they’d had a pipe burst and needed to clean up. They’d lose a lot of money because it was a festival weekend, but they didn’t want to risk the rest of their staff in the event that Ducote sent another thug to harass them.

Gabe would deal with her later. Right now, he couldn’t take his eyes off Xavier’s angel.

Had he been sitting on the evidence all this time? Right under his nose? Goddammit, Dad, why’d you have to make this so hard?

Burke buckled up. “Next stop, the Choux. And if Rocky were still alive, I’d kick his ass.”

“You’d have to wait in line,” Gabe grumbled. “What did he think he was doing? Some Dan Brown Da Vinci Code shit?”

“He was trying to protect you both,” Molly said, her reproach crystal clear.

Gabe sighed. “I know. I know he didn’t want anyone to find out about Xavier, and I know he was trying to keep me safe by keeping me in the dark.”

“Still sucks,” Xavier muttered as Molly gave him back his keys and the small angel’s base.

Gabe nodded grimly. “It sure does.”

The Garden District, New Orleans, Louisiana

FRIDAY, JULY 29, 4:45 P.M.

Lamont let himself into the house and placed the bag containing the flattened boxes, silver wrapping paper, and a few bronze sculptures on the foyer floor. The bronzes were freaking heavy. Not as heavy as Ashley’s remains had been, but he doubted that James would be able to remember the difference.

He’d wrap the new gifts when he was finished with Joelle.

He found her in her bedroom, dressed in one of her fancy frocks. Probably preparing for my big dinner party tonight. Shame that she won’t be attending, after all.

She sat at her vanity, staring at her reflection. But she wasn’t seeing herself. Her gaze was unfocused, and her lips drooped sadly.

He might have felt sorry for her had she not hidden cameras in his study.

No, he still wouldn’t have felt sorry for her. Joelle was an unpleasant person, and he hadn’t realized how much he disliked her until he’d put a ring on her finger.

Stupid me.

But within a few hours, he wouldn’t be burdened with her ever again.

He must have made a noise, because she jumped in her chair, pivoting to stare at him with wide eyes. “You scared me,” she accused.

I’ll do worse than that. “I thought I’d come home between meetings. We need to talk.”

Her chin lifted. “If you still want a divorce, the answer is still no. You have no grounds.”

He started to say that he didn’t need grounds, but he wanted her compliant. “You could be right.”

Her eyes narrowed warily. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing. I simply thought we should talk.”

“Why are you so sweaty? You hate to be sweaty.”

It was true. He was drenched in sweat. He’d nearly run from his two thirty meeting, and stopping to buy the gifts, boxes, and wrapping paper had taken valuable time. “I’m sweaty because it’s hotter than hell outside. Come, let’s have a drink and converse like civilized people.”

She rose from the little chair and sauntered toward him, her hips swaying with every step.

Not gonna work, dear wife.That may have done the trick when she was seven years younger and he was a whole lot stupider, but not today. In fact, he had to fight not to laugh at her. She was ridiculous.

She ran her fingertips over the apology necklace he’d given her. “I might forgive you for another one of these.”

He smiled then, because it was part of the act. “I might ask you to.” When hell freezes over. He held out his hand and led her downstairs to the living room where they’d talked the night before. “I’ll mix us some drinks and we can chat.”

She curled up on the sofa, watching as he moved behind the bar. “Still not giving you a divorce.”

He shot her a warning look. He couldn’t come off as too conciliatory. She’d never fall for that. “We’ll see.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself. But with the video in my possession, you’ll be out on the street. I think I’ll like being mistress of this household all by my lonesome.”

He very nearly growled. There was no fucking way she was getting his house.

Calm down. She’s not getting anything. You’re killing her, remember?

Saying nothing, he mixed their martinis, adding to hers the last of the Rohypnol powder left over from Rocky’s killing. He and Jackass had each kept a little of the powder. Funnily enough, Jackass had probably used the last of his share on Joelle the night he’d been waiting in the study.

Lamont added olives to his own drink, knowing that she wouldn’t touch it. She hated olives. He handed her the drink and sat on the opposite end of the couch. “To civilized conversations,” he said.

She snorted in a very unladylike way. “Whatever you say.” She downed hers in three large gulps, just as he’d known she would. Then held her glass out for more. Just as he’d known she would.

She’d become a drunk in the years since their marriage. A mean, nasty drunk. But she wouldn’t get mean or nasty today. In a minute or two, she’d be out cold.

He took her glass and went back to the bar, mixing her another drink, just to keep up the charade. She frowned, shaking her head.

“What’d you do?” she asked, having to carefully enunciate her words. “Lamont?”

His name sounded slurred. He simply sipped on his own drink, waiting behind the bar. He said nothing when she tried to stand.

“You bastard,” she spat, then crumpled to the floor.

Leaving her there, he went to his study, turned on his computer, then opened the document he’d written the night before and printed it out. He then deleted the file and went into his settings and deleted the need for a password. That way if someone searched his hard drive and found remnants of the document, he could say that she could have used his computer at any time. There was nothing incriminating on this computer. Anything that was personally important he wrote longhand and left in his safe. Any communications were done over burner phones and he’d disposed of the ones he’d used with Jackass and Ashley.

Putting on gloves, he took the letter from the printer and reread it to make sure that he’d written it correctly.

Dear Lamont,

When I found out that you were having an affair with Ashley… I guess I just broke. I knew you weren’t going to end it with her, even if you promised to. I knew the only way to get her out of our lives was to kill her. So I paid to have it done.

But it didn’t make a difference. I realized last night that we were over. You don’t love me anymore. I had her killed for nothing, and now that I’m thinking clearly, I’m finding that I can’t live with what I did. She was just a kid. The same age I was when I was your dirty little secret.

I hope her family will forgive me. I would have done anything to keep you. That was my mistake.

I’d wish you well, but I’m not that nice. I hope you’re miserable forever and never find another woman to hurt. Goddamn your soul to hell. I guess I’ll see you there.

Taking the letter with him, he went to the garage to put it on the passenger seat of her car before opening the driver’s door. Leaving it open, he went back to the living room, where she still lay on the carpet, drew a deep breath, and hoisted her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“Damn, girl, you’ve gained weight,” he muttered, then chuckled. She’d hate him saying that more than she’d hate being murdered by him.

Staggering slightly, he readjusted her and made his way into the garage, where he shoved her into the driver’s seat. Then he went back into the house, took off his gloves, and filled the two boxes with heavy sculptures.

He wrapped the presents and, making sure to get his fingerprints on the silver paper, placed them in the same corner of the garage where he’d told James to store the boxes the night he’d killed Ashley. James’s prints wouldn’t be on these new boxes, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that now.

Then he tugged the gloves back on, put the keys into Joelle’s limp hand, shoved his foot between hers to hit the brake, and pushed the button that started the car. She’d be dead in two or three hours. He’d had the garage well sealed and insulated before marrying Joelle because some valuable paintings he’d had stored had been destroyed by mold. So now his garage was as airtight as a structure could be.

Poor Joelle. She might not even last two hours.

Whistling, he shut the garage door behind him, cleaned their martini glasses and put them away, pocketed Joelle’s cell phone from the coffee table, and went back to work.

The Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana

FRIDAY, JULY 29, 4:45 P.M.

“Did you find it?” Molly asked when Gabe and Burke returned to the Escalade.

They’d driven from the UPS store in Baton Rouge directly to the Choux so that Gabe could retrieve the angel his father had given him before he’d died. Xavier had ducked down when they’d returned to New Orleans, sitting on the back-seat floorboard so that he couldn’t be seen.

Molly had wanted to take him back to Burke’s place right away, but they’d all had a feeling of the clock ticking. They needed every piece of evidence they could gather, because Ducote was going to be a hard man to take down. Rocky had told Xavier that he’d leave Gabe information, and they were hoping against hope that Gabe’s angel would yield it.

“I did,” Gabe said, sounding subdued and anxious all at the same time. “It was in my drawer, right where I left it. It’s just… the place was so quiet. We’re normally packed this time on Friday night.” He handed the angel to her. “It felt so wrong.”

“You’ll be able to open up again soon,” Molly said, hoping it was true.

Trying to keep her hands from shaking, she pried the bottom from Gabe’s angel. The base was inscribed: Je t’aimerai toujours, mon ange.

“What does it mean?” she asked.

Gabe cleared his throat. “ ‘I will always love you, my angel.’ ”

“Oh,” she whispered, letting out a breath as she shook another thumb drive into her hand. “Let’s see what it says.” Quickly she opened the drive on her laptop.

Then stared. “Motherfucker,” she muttered.

“What?” Burke, Gabe, and Xavier all asked in unison.

“Only one document. It says, ‘Call Aunt Gigi ASAP when you find this. I love you.’ ”

“What the hell?” Burke exploded. “Dammit, Rocky.”

Expression weary, Gabe tried calling his aunt, but his call went straight to voice mail once again. “She’s still got her phone turned off. I’ve left messages for her and I even called all of the cruise lines again, but I keep getting their voice mail. I don’t know what else to do.”

Burke exhaled heavily. “Now what?”

“We talk to Ducote’s wife number three,” Xavier said from behind the driver’s seat.

“No,” Molly said without even looking back. “You’re going back to Burke’s camp.”

Burke checked his watch. “It’ll take over two hours to get him to the camp and come back here. And that’s after we get out of the city.”

The Quarter was packed with SummerFest revelers. It had taken them over an hour to get to the Choux once they’d exited the interstate into New Orleans. Molly had nearly turned around, but Xavier had convinced her that they’d spend just as long trying to get out of the city as they would getting to the Choux. Everyone had been so hopeful that Gabe’s angel would have the information Rocky had promised he’d leave them, so she’d kept going.

Molly wanted to sigh. That hadn’t panned out very well. Rocky Hebert had been a little too careful. Although he had been spot-on when he’d hidden his phone’s SIM card under the car floor mat. Still, it was hard not to be frustrated. If Joelle Ducote didn’t pan out, they were back to brainstorming again.

At the rate they were going, they might be coming back tomorrow. If they showed up at her house too late, she might not answer the door.

“Just go to Ducote’s house now,” Xavier said.

“No!” Molly, Burke, and Gabe said together.

“Are you insane?” Gabe demanded. “He’s the one who wants to kill us—you especially.”

“He might not even be home,” Xavier argued. “And all the other people who are trying to kill me are either dead or arrested.”

Molly stared at Burke, who actually looked like he was listening to Xavier’s arguments. “Burke?”

“He has a point,” Burke said. “Let’s find out if Ducote’s even home. Hell, his wife might not be home, but we need to try to talk to her, to find out what she knows about her husband. If that clerk back at the UPS store was texting Ducote, he knows we’re getting closer. He might run for it and then Xavier and Gabe will never be safe. They’ll always be looking over their shoulders.” He shrugged. “My gut’s telling me that this is urgent. That we don’t have that much more time.”

Molly sighed. “I agree with Gabe that this is insane. But… what would be your plan?”

“You call Ducote’s office. Find out if he’s left yet. If he’s still there, I’ll drive us to Ducote’s house. You can talk to Joelle and I’ll stay and guard Xavier and Gabe, who will keep their heads down. If Ducote’s not at the office, we’ll go back to my camp and start again tomorrow.”

“It’s a good plan, Molly,” Xavier said cajolingly.

“I promised your mother that you’d be safe,” Molly said, hating the situation.

“You are keeping me safe,” Xavier said, with the confidence of a twenty-two-year-old. “I’ll stay hidden. Burke’s windows are tinted and bulletproof.”

“Bullet resistant,” Burke corrected.

“Whatever,” Xavier said. “Molly, the longer we sit here, the more of a target we are. Let’s get moving.”

Rolling her eyes, Molly searched for Ducote’s office number online, then dialed. “They’re probably closed. It’s almost five now,” she said, then blinked, surprised when someone answered.

“Hello, this is Mr. Ducote’s office,” a woman answered. “Can I help you?”

“May I speak to Mr. Ducote?” Molly asked.

“He’s in a meeting,” the woman said. “Can I take a message?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll call back on Monday morning. Thank you.” Molly ended the call and met Burke’s gaze. “I don’t like this.”

“It’ll be faster to get back to Burke’s boat by going south to the Garden District where Ducote lives,” Xavier said excitedly, “than it would be backtracking through the Quarter. We gotta go that way anyway.”

“No, we don’t gotta,” Molly said. “There are lots of other ways to get to the boat launch.”

“Molly.” Gabe sounded exhausted. “Just drive. The faster we talk to Ducote’s wife, the faster we can get Xavier back to safety.”

“Let me drive,” Burke said, opening his door. “You can go talk to Joelle and I can be ready to drive Xavier to safety if it gets dicey.”

Feeling outnumbered, Molly switched places with Burke, hoping they weren’t making a deadly mistake.