Quarter to Midnight (A New Orleans Novel Book 1)

Thank you for staying so late, Carrie,” Lamont said. “I’ve got a big day in court Monday and I need to get these documents filed.”

She smiled up at him, blatant interest in her eyes. “Of course. Anything you say, sir.”

There was no way he was taking her on as a lover. He wouldn’t even keep her as an assistant for too much longer. But he needed her for the next five minutes.

“Thank you,” he said. Returning to his own office, he left the door open enough that she could hear everything that was about to be said.

Using his burner, he cued up the recording he’d cut and pasted together the night before. He’d practiced the dialogue, leaving just enough space between her rants for his own responses.

Using Joelle’s cell phone, which he’d taken from the coffee table after putting her in the car, he called the phone on his desk. It was genius, really. He’d have a record of her calling from her own cell and the corresponding call length would show up on his call log as well. He’d put her phone back on the coffee table when he got home, before “discovering” her body in the garage.

His desk phone began to ring. Showtime. He answered it on speaker.

“Hello, Joelle,” he said in a weary tone. “I don’t have the time to argue with you right now. I have to get to a dinner meet—”

“I thought you loved me,” recorded Joelle wailed.

“I did,” he said. “Once. But I’m marrying Ashley.”

“You can’t do that!”

He noted movement through the opening of his office door. Carrie was listening. Excellent. “Watch me,” he said to recorded Joelle.

“You can’t do that!”

It had been a reuse of the same line, but he thought it worked well.

“What do you mean?” he asked warily.

“The whore is gone. Now we can get back to normal. We can work on our marriage. It’ll be like it was at the beginning.”

“Our marriage is over, Joelle. I’m filing for divorce.”

“No. You will not divorce me. I won’t let you. I will destroy you. Your reputation will be in tatters by the time I’m through with you.”

He sighed heavily. “Joelle—”

“You’ll wish you were dead by the time I’m through with you. You’ll be sorry you ever crossed me.”

“I need to go. We’ll discuss this when I get home, like civilized people.”

“Over my dead body,” recorded Joelle spat.

He discreetly ended the call on Joelle’s cell phone, staring into space until he heard movement in the office—Carrie scurrying back to her desk.

He pocketed Joelle’s cell phone and packed up his desk with a smile—which he’d erased from his face by the time he walked by Carrie’s desk. She was facing her computer, a set of headphones covering her ears.

He wanted to laugh but controlled the urge. She was trying to make it look like she hadn’t heard a thing. It was really too perfect.

He touched her shoulder lightly, and she jumped a foot. “Mr. Ducote! You startled me.”

“I’m so sorry, Carrie. I have to leave for my dinner meeting. I’ll see you Monday morning. Don’t forget to lock your station. The cleaners are coming through tonight.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll see you on Monday.”

He left her staring after him.

Perfect.

The Garden District, New Orleans, Louisiana

FRIDAY, JULY 29, 6:40 P.M.

“Wow.” From the front passenger seat of Burke’s Escalade, Molly stared up at the stately Garden District home belonging to one Lamont Ducote. “It’s even fancier than Mule’s house.”

Burke grunted. “He inherited the house and a lot of money from wife number one.”

“After he killed her,” Gabe muttered from behind her.

“Fucking asshole.” Xavier’s mutter came from the back floorboard.

“At least he doesn’t have a gate,” Burke said as he pulled up to the curb.

“And he’s not home,” Xavier added.

“Plan’s the same?” Molly asked. “I try first, then if she’s agreeable, Gabe will join me. Gabe, you’re our videographer. Try to be discreet, but I want a record of everything if possible. Xavier, you stay in the SUV with Burke and keep your head down. Don’t make me have to explain to your mother that you got hurt—or worse—on my watch.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Xavier promised. “I will. We might not have even needed wife number three if Gabe’s aunt weren’t still gallivanting all over the world.”

“That’s true, but it doesn’t make this any safer. Okay, I’m off. I’m calling you now, Burke, so you can listen in on the convo.” She dialed Burke’s number and he crossed his fingers before hitting accept.

“Be careful,” Gabe whispered fiercely. “Please.”

She reached behind the seat to give his hand a squeeze. “I promise.”

The Ducotes’ lawn was impeccably manicured. Molly bet it took an entire team of gardeners to keep it this nice. She drew a breath when she got to the front door, tugging on her jacket to hide her holster. The gun in her holster belonged to Burke, because the cops had taken both of hers yesterday and hadn’t given them back, citing their use in the killing of the men attempting to abduct Chelsea and Harper. She supposed she was lucky that they hadn’t kept both her and Gabe, too.

Thank you, Willa Mae.

Bolstering herself, Molly knocked. And listened. She heard nothing. She pressed the doorbell and heard an ostentatious chime echoing through the house. But still nothing.

“Maybe she’s in the backyard,” she said for Burke’s benefit. “Maybe they’ve got a pool.”

She walked around the house, pausing when she came to the garage.

She could hear something here. An engine. She walked up to the side door to the garage and peered in. And her gut turned over.

“Burke, Gabe, you need to come. There’s a car in the garage with the motor running and it looks like there’s someone inside.”

“Wait for us,” Burke commanded tersely, then just before the SUV doors slammed she heard him remind Xavier to stay hidden. “Where?” he shouted as he rounded the house.

“In here.” Ending her call with Burke, Molly shoved at the door with her shoulder, then winced. “Ouch, that really hurt. Gabe, you start recording. I’ll call 911.”

Gabe started the video then handed Molly his phone. “Hold this for a minute. Burke, together on three.”

The two men slammed into the door once, twice, three times before the frame splintered. The three of them immediately started coughing at the exhaust fumes.

“This is 911. What is your emergency?” the operator asked.

Continuing to record her partners with Gabe’s phone, Molly answered the operator on her own phone, giving her the address. “We have a woman in a garage with the car engine running. My partner is trying to get her out of the car and into fresh air. Please send an ambulance.”

“It’s on its way. Stay on the phone with me, please. What is your name?”

“Molly Sutton.” Coughing, she recorded Burke and Gabe extricating the woman from the car. Dammit. It was Joelle Ducote. “I think the woman is the homeowner. We’ll do CPR until the paramedics arrive.”

Holding her breath, she continued filming as Burke carried the woman out of her garage, Gabe on his heels. Gabe took his phone and they followed Burke to the front lawn, where he laid Joelle down gently.

“There’s no pulse,” Burke said. “Goddammit.” He shoved his phone at Molly. “Call André.”

Molly muted her own phone and dialed André on Burke’s. “It’s Molly,” she said as soon as he’d answered. “We’re at the Ducotes’ house.”

“You’re where?” André exploded. “Fucking hell, Molly. What are you thinking?”

“That we were too late,” she snapped. “We found Joelle Ducote in her car in her garage with the motor running. We got her out, and I have 911 on the line. But I think she’s dead. Can you get over here as fast as possible?”

“On my way.”

André ended the call and Molly unmuted her phone. “We can’t find a pulse,” she said to the operator. “My partner has started chest compressions.”

“Gabe, I need your help,” Burke said through clenched teeth.

Once again Gabe handed his phone to Molly, then dropped to his knees on the other side of Joelle. “What do you want me to do?”

“I’m going to do mouth-to-mouth. I need you to continue chest compressions. You know how?”

Gabe nodded once. “I do.”

Feeling helpless, Molly could only hold Gabe’s phone, recording the two men trying to save Joelle’s life.

Burke gripped the gemstone necklace that lay against Joelle’s skin, gently pulling it over her head so that it didn’t further impair her airflow.

Molly thought she recognized that necklace. A glance at her texts from Burke confirmed it. He’d sent her a photo of the woman who’d come into his office. “Burke, that’s the same necklace that the woman who visited you wore. Or one identical to it.”

Burke didn’t spare it a glance. He started mouth-to-mouth, motioning Gabe to start the chest compressions.

“Hand-me-down dogs,” Gabe said between shoves against Joelle Ducote’s chest. “Hand-me-down necklaces, too?”

“Maybe.” Then she put all thoughts out of her mind, concentrating on counting out loud so that Burke and Gabe could coordinate their efforts.

By the time the medics arrived four minutes later, both Burke and Gabe were sweaty and tired. The three of them stepped away from Joelle as the medics began to work.

Two NOPD officers arrived soon after, giving them the stink eye. “Aren’t you the three who were there when Mule was shot?” one of them asked, then pointed at Molly and Gabe. “And you two when those three guys were shot Wednesday night?”

“I think you have a penchant for being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” the other said, going for his cuffs. “Drop the phones and put your hands out.”

“Get in the car,” Burke said to Molly and Gabe.

“No,” the first cop said. “You’ll be getting in our car this time round.” He grabbed the phone from Molly and twisted her arm behind her back, slapping one cuff on her wrist.

A car screeched to a halt behind them, a door slamming. “Cut the bullshit,” André said loudly. “Remove the cuffs, Styles. Now.” He gestured to Molly, Gabe, and Burke. “You three, come with me.” He turned, frowning at first when he saw Xavier in the SUV. The young man had his phone out filming the encounter with the cops. “Who’s—” André did a double take, his brows shooting up when he realized that the wig-wearing man was Xavier.

While Molly appreciated Xavier having their backs, she wanted to smack him. Did he have no sense of self-preservation whatsoever? “Get down,” she mouthed. Xavier scowled, but complied. His phone, however, remained pressed against the SUV’s window. Still filming.

“On second thought…” André gestured to a uniformed officer who’d just arrived on the scene. “I want you to escort these four into the city,” he told the officer when he’d joined them.

Molly recognized the newcomer—whose name tag said McCauley—as one of André’s trusted men. She’d seen him at the police station the day they’d been taken in for questioning after witnessing Mule’s murder. He’d brought Gabe to the lobby after Assistant District Attorney Cardozo was finished talking to him. McCauley gave them a respectful nod before giving André his full attention.

“Where should I take them?” McCauley asked. “To the station?”

André seemed to consider it for a moment. “No. Get as close to the Monteleone Hotel as you can and wait for me there. I’ll take their statements when I’m finished.” Then he leaned over and whispered something in Burke’s ear. “Go. Now.”

The cop who’d started to cuff Molly began to sputter. “But—”

“Let them go,” André snapped. “I will take their statements myself. Did you record everything, Gabe?”

“I did.”

“Apparently, so did Xavier,” Burke muttered.

André looked tired. “Send both videos to me as soon as you can.”

“Can I have my phone back?” Molly asked the cop who’d taken it.

“Evidence,” the cop snapped.

André’s sigh said he was out of patience. “Officer Styles. Miss Sutton is not under arrest. She is a Good Samaritan. Give her the goddamn phone.”

With a dirty look, the cop obeyed, slapping the phone into Molly’s outstretched hand. It hurt, as did the wrist he’d cuffed with way too much relish, but she bit back the flinch, unwilling to let the asshole see it. “Thank you, sir,” she said sweetly.

Gabe held the SUV’s front passenger door open for Molly, then got in the back with Xavier, who’d finally stopped filming and was back down on the floorboard. They waited until Burke was behind the wheel and had closed his door before asking questions.

“What did he say?” Gabe asked.

“Why are we going to the Monteleone?” Molly asked.

“Is Joelle dead?” Xavier asked.

Burke pulled away from the curb. “We’re going to the Monteleone because André said to. He told me that he’d meet us there and take our statements, that we could trust Officer McCauley, that he didn’t want us going to the police station when he wasn’t there to ensure our safety, and that we should keep our heads down. Yes, Xavier, she’s dead.”

“Fuck,” Xavier muttered. “Another wife dead of ‘suicide’?”

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” Burke drawled sardonically and headed toward the Quarter. “There was a note on the passenger seat of her car. I snapped a photo of it, in case it gets ‘misplaced.’ She claimed to have killed ‘Ashley’ because Ashley and Ducote were having an affair but had second thoughts.”

“The female victim yesterday morning?” Molly asked. “Could that have been Ashley?”

“Dunno,” Burke said. “It’d make sense, though.”

“Especially with the woman wearing the same necklace as Joelle,” Gabe added.

“What are you talking about?” Xavier asked, and Molly told him about Joelle’s necklace.

“Damn,” he murmured. “This man is evil. How many mistresses has he killed? How many wives?”

“That’s on André to find out,” Burke said. “But it’s on us to make sure that happens.”

“I trust André,” Molly said.

Burke nodded. “So do I. He’s come through for us too many times for me not to.”

“Why the Monteleone?” Gabe asked.

Burke shrugged, then hissed, rubbing his shoulder. “Don’t know. I’m just doing what he said to do. Damn, my shoulder hurts. I’m getting too old to be breaking down doors.”

“Me, too,” Gabe said, rolling his shoulder with a grimace. “Think they’ll charge us for breaking and entering into Ducote’s garage?”

“I don’t think so,” Molly said, flexing her wrist. On top of not being able to talk to Joelle Ducote, the three of them had sustained injuries in the process. Everyone but Xavier, so she could be grateful for that, at least. “We have the whole thing documented, and we called 911.” She’d ended the call to 911 when the ambulance had arrived and now googled Monteleone Hotel and Lamont Ducote. “Oh,” she said after scanning one of the first articles to pop up. “There’s a big political fundraiser tonight. Five hundred bucks a plate. Guess who’s a guest speaker?”

“Lamont Ducote,” Gabe said with a growl. “Motherfucker.”

Molly sighed. “Yes and yes.”

“Is André going to arrest him?” Xavier asked.

Molly looked over her shoulder. Officer McCauley was right behind them in an NOPD squad car. “I guess we’re going to have to wait and see.”

Hotel Monteleone, New Orleans, Louisiana

FRIDAY, JULY 29, 7:15 P.M.

“Lamont!”

Lamont turned to find Lyle Nelson approaching him, his wife on his arm. “Lyle. Lorraine. Thank you for coming out tonight.”

“Our pleasure,” Lorraine said with the kind of elegance he’d hoped Joelle would achieve but never had. “Where’s your lovely wife tonight?”

“She said she was feeling poorly and said to offer her regrets.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Lyle said with a momentary frown for Joelle, but then he was back to business. “I’ve got a few friends I’d like you to meet tonight. They’re anxious to hear all about your campaign and your platform. Come along.”

Lamont followed, letting it all sink in. This is it. This was the moment he was introduced as a potential candidate. Here, in the Monteleone, a city landmark. Where a jazz quartet played jauntily. Here, with the real money of Louisiana.

This is the first step toward what I’ve been working toward for years.Every case he’d taken, every scandal he’d made disappear. Every enemy he’d dispatched.

Even his marriage to wife number one had been carefully orchestrated. Especially wife number one. Lucille had been old money, her family practically New Orleans royalty. The day he’d married her had been the best day of his life.

Not because of Lucille, of course. She’d been older and far too stodgy for his personal tastes. But the connections the union had provided to him had set him on the path. He’d been employed at his father-in-law’s prestigious firm. He’d done everything the old bastard had required, just short of wiping the old man’s ass. And I would have done that, too, if it’d meant progressing my career. Luckily, it hadn’t come to that, although it had been close.

Securing Lucille and her father’s wealth and influence had been the first giant step. Not one ounce of it luck. He’d worked hard to catch Lucille’s eye. He’d been a poor lawyer with a huge law school loan hanging over his head. She’d been his ticket to ride. He’d put up with a lot during those years.

And it was finally paying off.

Every step thereafter had been calculated toward achieving this goal. To hold the power of the US Senate in his hands. And later? Maybe even the White House.

Nelson’s friends were easily charmed, and he walked away having secured their support.

“Nicely done,” Nelson murmured. “Let’s mingle some more before they start serving dinner.”

“Lead on,” Lamont said with a smile so big that it stretched his face.

Joelle would be dead by now, he had an alibi, and no one could connect him to any of the circus going on within the NOPD. Mule was being investigated, his legacy doomed.

Lamont, on the other hand, would come out of this—well, not smelling like a rose. There would be the scandal of his affair and Joelle’s suicide following her murder-for-hire of Ashley, but he’d survive all that. He already had his black suit picked out. He’d be in mourning for a while, but he’d persist, and people all around would laud him for his commitment to the community in the face of tragedy.

Everything was gonna be all right.

“What’s he doing here?” Lorraine said sharply.

Lamont turned around and—

No. Oh no, no no no.His gut went into free fall, his heart beating so loud that it was all he could hear.

It was André Holmes, that damn cop. And beside him… Jean-Pierre Cardozo.

Both wore suits. Both looked grim.

And both were coming his way.

Two officers followed them, checking out the room.

Oh my God.

They stopped in front of them, André giving a polite nod to Lorraine.

“What is the meaning of this?” Nelson demanded. “This is a private event. We have all the proper permits.” He lowered his voice, leaning toward André and Jean-Pierre. “You’re making a scene.”

“Apologies,” André said. “Mr. Ducote, we need you to come with us.”

Lamont swallowed hard. “If you’ll call my office on Monday morning, my assistant will be happy to give you an appointment.”

Jean-Pierre rolled his eyes. Actually rolled his fucking eyes. “Don’t make this any harder than it already is, Ducote. We know.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Nelson demanded. “This is a private event. We have all the proper permits.” He lowered his voice, leaning toward André and Jean-Pierre. “You’re making a scene.”

“Apologies,” André said. “Mr. Ducote, we need you to come with us.”

Lamont swallowed hard. “If you’ll call my office on Monday morning, my assistant will be happy to give you an appointment.”

Jean-Pierre rolled his eyes. Actually rolled his fucking eyes. “Don’t make this any harder than it already is, Ducote. We know.”

He made it to the door. “Open it,” he growled to Lorraine.

Hands trembling, she obeyed, and he dragged her through to the stairs. The two uniformed officers watched him as he descended, apparently waiting for André. The big cop seemed to fill the stairwell when he stepped through the door.

“Back off, Holmes!” Lamont shouted. “Do not test me.”

André Holmes said nothing, simply descending the stairs one at a time, keeping pace with him. Not letting him out of his sight.

“I will kill her.” Lamont’s words echoed off the stairwell walls, and Lorraine let out a sob.

“I know you’re capable of it,” André said calmly. “But I don’t intend to allow you to do it.”

Lamont would kill them all, then. Every single one of them if he had to.

He’d descended the first flight of stairs and now stood on the landing. André was only four steps away.

Keeping his arm tight against Lorraine’s throat, Lamont pointed the gun at André’s chest and fired twice. The man collapsed, gasping as he rolled down the stairs.

Lamont shoved the gun against Lorraine’s temple once again and dragged her down the remaining stairs and out the emergency door, setting off an alarm. Hot, moist air smacked him in the face, shocking after the cool A/C, but the humidity he usually hated was now the most amazing feeling ever.

Just another minute. I’m almost free.