Quarter to Midnight (A New Orleans Novel Book 1)

“I DON’T LIKE THIS,” Manny said for the tenth time as he pulled up to the curb in front of Xavier’s house, close behind Mr. Lott’s white BMW.

The blue Camry was gone.

“I know,” Xavier said, hearing the strain in his own voice. “But do you have a better idea?”

“No,” Manny admitted. “I don’t like that he ignored you when you asked for Rocky’s son.”

“I agree,” Xavier said. “But if you don’t have a better idea, I’m gonna go with this one.”

Manny growled softly. “I’m going in with you.” Reaching under his seat, he pulled out a handgun and a knife.

Carlos stared at the weapons. “Jesus, Manny! Why do you have a gun?”

“Because I work the night shift at a convenience store that gets robbed at least once a month. Don’t worry. I’ve done the safety course and I practice once a week. I know how to shoot.”

“Does Mom know?”

Manny shot him a look. “No. And don’t tell her. She worries enough about me as it is.” He opened his car door. “Are we doing this or not?”

Xavier drew a steadying breath and opened his door, looking around for . . . he wasn’t sure what. His house looked the same. The abandoned house next door looked the same. Everything sounded the same. A few birds.

The dog that belonged to the lady who lived behind their property was barking, just like normal.

Then he saw the drops on the driveway. Brown. Dried.

Blood.

I hit him. But if he left on his own, I didn’t kill him.

At least there was that.

Mr. Lott got out of his SUV and started up the driveway, his steps quick.

When he got to the garage door, he turned and gave them an impatient come-here gesture. “Don’t stand out in the open like that,” he chided.

They obeyed, running up the driveway to meet him. His impatience melted away, replaced with concern. “Are you boys all right?”

Xavier shrugged. “As all right as we can be, I guess.”

Mr. Lott looked around. “I didn’t expect you to live in such an isolated area. Do you have neighbors?”

“No, sir.” Xavier pointed at the house next door with the For Sale sign in the front yard. “They moved out a year ago.” He pointed to the next-closest house, at the end of the street. “They go north for the summer. Too hot down here for them.”

“So no one was around to hear your shot?”

Manny snarled. “How do you know Xavier fired?”

Mr. Lott rolled his eyes. “Because he said he was ‘prepared’ and that he wasn’t sure if the guy was still alive. I connected the dots.” He turned to Xavier. “Did anyone hear your shot?”

“Maybe the lady behind us,” Xavier said. “But it was late, and she goes to sleep early. She also takes out her hearing aids at night. She says she’ll sleep through the Rapture if it happens when she’s asleep.”

“Good to know,” Mr. Lott murmured. “How did he get into the house?”

“The intruder entered through the side door,” Carlos said, all professional.

They followed him to the door that went into the laundry room. It was ajar, the frame splintered.

Mr. Lott pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket.

Manny’s eyes popped wide. “What the hell? Is this what you meant when you said you were prepared?”

Mr. Lott handed them each a pair of the gloves. “Partially, yes. I came prepared for, hopefully, every eventuality. Suit up, boys.”

They obeyed, grimacing as they gloved up. The gloves were made for someone with much smaller hands.

Mr. Lott pushed the door open with one finger. There was more blood on the laundry room floor, but it was smeared, like someone tried to wipe it away then gave up.

“Towels are missing,” Xavier said quietly. “I folded them yesterday morning before I met you for breakfast, Carlos. They were still here last night.”

“Your intruder has lost some blood,” Mr. Lott said, sounding pleased.

“We can check the local hospitals later. Your spare room is upstairs?”

Xavier nodded. “First door on the right.”

They walked up the stairs, keeping to the far left because the right was where all the blood was. Xavier glanced at Manny, who’d retrieved his handgun from his waistband and now clutched it in a white-knuckled grip.

Xavier patted his pocket, making sure his own gun was still there. But of course it was. It was so heavy that it was dragging his jeans down and so bulky that there was a visible lump under his shirt, even though he wore it untucked.

He wished his father had bought a smaller gun. Although he’d been grateful for it last night.

Especially now that he knew that he hadn’t completely killed the bastard.

Who was trying to kill me.

The spare room looked almost normal. Except for the window that remained open, the curtains fluttering in the morning breeze.

And, of course, except for the pool of blood staining his mother’s carpet.

“That’s never coming out, is it?” he asked.

“I know a guy who can replace the carpet,” Carlos said, patting Xavier’s shoulder.

Xavier leaned on Carlos. “I have to call my mom.”

“We will,” Mr. Lott promised. “I want to check out the rest of the rooms first. He may have left something behind that’ll tell us who he was or maybe who sent him.”

Xavier just wanted to leave. To walk out the door and call his mother—on Carlos’s phone because he’d been too afraid to turn his on.

I just want this to be over.

But he didn’t think that was going to happen anytime soon.

“Is this your room, Xavier?” Mr. Lott called from his bedroom doorway.

“Yes. Why? What’s wrong?” Xavier hurried to his room, but nothing looked amiss.

“Nothing. It doesn’t look like he came in here. Why don’t you pack a few things?”

Xavier brushed past him, feeling . . . weird.

But that was to be expected, right?

Of course it was. Everything had been weird since yesterday morning.

At least I wasn’t imagining things. Someone really was trying to get me.

Maybe they still are.

He opened his drawer, unsurprised to see that Carlos had found his duffel bag. Together they stuffed it full. “Take extra underwear, man,” Carlos whispered. “Because if yours are still clean from last night, I’ll be amazed.”

Xavier snorted a laugh. “Shut up, pendejo,” he said affectionately. He zipped the duffel and grabbed his backpack. “We’re ready, Mr. Lott.”

“All right, then. The two of you want to come with me? I’m sure Manny has better things to do.”

“Nope,” Manny said brusquely. “I’m coming and they’re with me.”

Mr. Lott’s smile didn’t dim. “As you wish. Let’s go. I’ll follow you. We’ll let your mother decide what needs to be done about the blood. If she wants to call the police, we’ll do that. At a minimum, though, the window should be shut and the door fixed.”

“I’ll take care of the window,” Carlos offered. Shouldering his own backpack, he went to do that, then met them at the stairs and followed them outside.

Mr. Lott got into his BMW, and Xavier, Carlos, and Manny piled into Manny’s rusted-out junker.

“I don’t like this,” Manny said again.

“Something new?” Xavier asked. “Or the same old?”

“He was watching you when you packed your bag. Like . . . I don’t know. It was weird.”

“Okay.” Xavier didn’t know what to do about Manny’s concerns, but he was listening. “What do you think we should do?”

“I don’t know,” Manny said grimly. He handed his burner phone over the seat. “Call your mother. Tell her what happened. Let her tell us what she thinks we should do, just like the lawyer said.”

“I don’t know her phone number,” Xavier admitted after staring at the burner’s keypad for several seconds.

“I’ve got it in my phone.” Carlos found the number and showed it to him.

“I hope she answers,” Xavier muttered. “It’s a strange number.”

But she did, after only one ring. “Hello? Who is this?” she demanded suspiciously. “If you’re calling about my car’s warranty, you can go straight to Hades.”

Her voice rolled over him, and his eyes filled with tears. “Mom,” he said hoarsely.

“Xavier?” Fear filled her voice. “What’s wrong? Why are you calling from this number?”

He blinked, sending the tears down his face. “It’s . . .” He had to clear his throat. “Mama. Something happened last night. Carlos and I were going to sleep and . . .” His voice broke.

“Xavier? Xavier! ” his mother shouted.

“What’s happening?” another female voice asked. “Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know,” his mother said frantically. “Xavier?”

Carlos took the phone from his hand and put it on speaker. “Mrs. M? It’s Carlos. We’re okay.”

“Oh my God,” she said on a rush of air, her voice tinny coming out of the burner phone’s crappy speaker. “What happened?”

“Someone broke into your house,” Carlos explained. “And . . . well . . .

we got out. Through the window upstairs.”

“The one in the spare room?” she asked. “You all used to scare me silly climbing in and out of that window.”

“You knew?” Xavier asked.

“Of course she knew,” Manny drawled from the front seat. “They always know.”

“Who’s that?” his mother asked.

“My brother Manny,” Carlos told her. “He’s driving us. We wanted to meet up with you.”

“And we have a visitor,” Xavier added. “I called that lawyer.”

She went quiet for several heartbeats. “Which lawyer?”

“Mr. Lott. Rocky’s lawyer.”

Her exhale was audible. “I see. Why did you call him?”

Xavier frowned. “I wanted to get in touch with Rocky’s son. Rocky always told me to call Gabriel if I needed help, but I don’t know Gabriel’s phone number.”

“Is Mr. Lott in the car with you?”

“No, ma’am.” Xavier exchanged a nervous glance with Carlos. “Why?”

“Is he here? In Houston?”

“Yes. He drove all night to come and get me. But he said that we should talk to you first before we leave for New Orleans, so you don’t worry.”

His mother barked a laugh that did not sound amused. “I see.

Magnanimous of him.”

“Mom?” Xavier was confused. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know yet. I don’t have all the information, because you called a stranger before you called me.”

Xavier winced. “I’m sorry, Mom. I was trying to protect you.”

She sighed wearily. “I know you were. So tell me what happened exactly, and why you didn’t call the police.”

Xavier blinked hard, trying to remember all the details. He was so tired.

“Like he said,” Carlos butted in, and Xavier was grateful. “We were going to bed and someone broke in. Xavier got his dad’s gun—”

“You did what?” she cried.

“Dad’s gun,” Xavier said, amazed that his voice was steady. “And I didn’t call the cops because . . . you know, Mom. Carlos and I were all alone and if they came at all, we’d get blamed.”

Another sigh. “You’re not wrong about that. I didn’t know your father gave you his gun.”

“He didn’t. I found it after he died.”

“He told me that he’d gotten rid of it,” she said, her voice so much smaller than normal, and Xavier hated it. She exhaled again and he could picture her straightening her spine. “So, you got your father’s gun.”

“And I got a ball bat and a golf club,” Carlos said.

She laughed, but it was a weak sound. “Carlos, you get cookies for the rest of your life.”

“That was my plan,” he said cheerfully, then his expression fell. “We couldn’t go down the stairs, so we went out the window. But when Xavier started through, the guy grabbed him.”

His mother’s gasp was muted, like she’d covered her mouth with her hand. “Dear God.”

“He’s not hurt,” Carlos insisted. “Not even a scratch. But . . .”

“I shot him,” Xavier blurted. “I shot him, and I dropped from the tree and we ran like hell.”

“All right,” she said quietly. Too quietly. That was her I’m-freaked-out-and-trying-not-to-be tone. “Is that why you didn’t call the police after it was over?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Xavier cringed. “I was . . . afraid. I had a gun, and the dude was white. That’s all I could see. The white hand grabbing my shirt when I turned around to shoot him.”

“But the white guy had a gun, too,” Carlos said. “Xavier did what he needed to do.”

“All right,” she said again. “I understand. So after it was over, you called this lawyer and asked for Gabriel Hebert, but the lawyer decided to come instead and wants to take you back to New Orleans with him. Am I getting it right?”

“Perfecto,” Carlos said. “But I won’t leave him, Mrs. M. I promise.”

“Thank you, Carlos,” she said sincerely. “To Manny, too.”

“No problem, Mrs. M,” Manny called. “I’m off work at the store for a few days and got nothin’ better to do.”

“Okay, this is what I want you to do. I want you to tell him that we’re going to meet him at the Waffle House on Wallisville Road. My car will be outside. You still got the keys, Xavier?”

He patted his pocket. Keys were still there, on the key ring he’d made using the angel Rocky had left him. Maybe the angel was watching over them, he thought, then shook his head at himself. “Yes, ma’am. I have the keys to your car.”

“Tell the lawyer to meet me inside. I want to talk to him. Alone. While I’m doing so, I want you to park Manny’s car and get into mine. When I text you, swing around the side where the bathrooms are. I’ll get out of there, meet you, and then we’re going to find Gabriel Hebert. The lawyer can follow us back to New Orleans, if he wants to.”

“I told you that I didn’t like the guy,” Manny said. “She doesn’t, either.”

“No, you said you didn’t like the situation,” Carlos corrected. “Do you think this guy isn’t on the level, Mrs. M?”

“I don’t know. He was nice to come all this way, but I had my own conversation with Rocky. He told me to trust no one but Gabriel. And he didn’t tell the lawyer where to find you, Xavier. Mr. Lott sent the inheritance information to the UPS box because that was the address that Rocky gave him. If Rocky went to that much trouble to protect your identity and location, I’m going to do the same. If Lott truly is a nice man—which I have no reason to believe he’s not—”

“Yet,” Manny inserted.

“Yet,” she agreed. “If he’s a nice man, he won’t mind a change in plans.”

“Let’s take my minivan,” her friend said in the background. “What if he’s bad news? What if he gets your license plate?”

“I’m not dragging you into this, Willa Mae.”

“No, you’re not dragging me anywhere. I’m coming with you. My minivan will make the trip better than your car. I just got a tune-up.”

Xavier wanted to laugh, but he held it in, only because he knew he’d sound like a maniac. “Mom, are you sure about this?”

“I am. I don’t have Gabriel’s phone number, but I know where he works.”

“At a restaurant,” Xavier said. “I turned off my phone, so I can’t search for which one.”

“Le Petit Choux,” she said. “I’ll call as soon as I hang up. If I can talk to him now, I will. Call the lawyer. Tell him the Waffle House. I’ll see you there.”

“My van is a Honda Odyssey,” Willa Mae called. “Gray. I’ll tell your mama the license plate and she can text to this number. Oh, this is exciting.

I’ve got a gun, too, and a carry license. I got it when I was with the prosecutor’s office and some punk threatened to kill me. I might even have bullets.”

“Oh my Lord,” his mother said, not sounding happy about it. “I suppose we’ll see you soon. I love you, son.”

“Love you, too, Mom.” Xavier ended the call, then gave in to the urge to laugh.

And he did sound like a maniac.

Carlos started to laugh. Then Manny joined in. They all sounded like maniacs, which was comforting in a weird way.

When Xavier was able to stop laughing, he was panting. Just in time for Manny’s burner to ring. “It’s Lott,” Xavier said. “I’ll tell him where to meet us.”

Mid-City, New Orleans, Louisiana

TUESDAY, JULY 26, 9:30 A.M.

“We’re fine,” Chelsea assured her when Molly called to check in.

Molly stood in Gabe’s spare bedroom, staring out the floor-to-ceiling window, wondering if the man who’d come so close to killing Gabe’s dog would be back. She’d think not in the daylight, but there’d still been daylight last night when he’d made his move.

She wondered if the attempted dog killer had been the same person who’d trashed Rocky Hebert’s house after his death. It was possible. Maybe even probable.

She wondered if she’d made a huge mistake, taking this job and putting Chelsea and Harper in danger. That was possible as well.

But at least not this morning, or so it seemed.

“Lucien stayed all night?” Molly asked. Lucien was one of Burke’s trusted employees. Lucien or Val would be the only two that he’d assign to family, because in Burke’s mind, Chelsea was his sister, too, and Harper his niece.

“He did. He sat outside our front door whenever he wasn’t doing rounds around the building. We’re fine, Molly. I swear it. What is this case that you’re so afraid for us?”

Molly hesitated, trying to find a way to explain it without breaking confidentiality. “It involves people in positions of power,” she hedged. “And I can’t say any more than that.”

“Got it. I’ll worry about you, too, but I know you’re careful. Harper knows not to answer the door. She’s a little on edge, but nothing like she’s been in the past. She likes Lucien.”

“She should. He brings her a book every time he sees her. What was it this time?”

“Charlotte’s Web.” Chelsea chuckled. “She’s already saying that the farmer and his wife should be more interested in the spider than the stupid pig.”

“Because she’s smart. Listen, I need to go. I’ll call you later today. And if anything weird happens, call Burke.” She ended the call, then washed up in the bathroom, which, like all the other rooms in the shotgun house, was surprisingly not claustrophobic, despite its tiny size.

The high ceilings truly added the feeling of space. She’d have to remember that for when she got a place of her own.

Because Chelsea and Harper wouldn’t need her forever. Sooner or later, she’d be on her own again. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

She found Burke sitting at the kitchen table, Gabe at his side. The two were hunched over Burke’s laptop.

“What’s going on?” Molly asked, making both men startle where they sat.

“We’ve been looking into Cicely Morrow,” Gabe said grimly. “She’s got a son.”

“Second son,” Molly said quietly. John Alan Industries. “But that doesn’t mean that your father did anything wrong.”

Gabe looked upset. “It’s damning, though. Why give this family money all those years if he didn’t have a personal connection? They’re not a charity.

They’re a family. They live in a house on a five-acre parcel of land in Mont Belvieu, a suburb east of Houston.”

Molly poured herself a cup of coffee and carried it to the table. “What’s the son’s name?”

Emotion flickered in Gabe’s eyes. Definitely some anger, but a lot of grief, too. “Xavier. He just graduated from Rice University. Premed.”

Xavier. She remembered Patty had heard Rocky Hebert talking about a trust for “X.”

“Kid got accepted to med school at the University of Pennsylvania,”

Burke added.

“Smart young man,” Molly said warily. “That’s a good school.”

“That’s an expensive school,” Gabe spat. “The kind one needs a trust fund to attend.”

Oh my. Gabe had clearly come to a set of conclusions that—if true—were very upsetting. “What about Mr. Morrow?”

“Died of a heart attack seven years ago,” Burke said. “He was a doctor, too.”

“Medical family,” she observed. “What else have you found on Cicely Morrow?”

“Not much.” Burke looked frustrated. “Woman is a law-abiding citizen.

Not so much as a parking ticket. Same with her son. He was salutatorian of his high school graduating class. Worked part-time during school months for a diner near the campus. Worked summers as a lifeguard.”

“Saved some little kid’s life a few years ago,” Gabe added glumly. “Got a write-up in the local paper. The kid’s parents wanted to pay him for saving their child’s life. He asked them to donate to a shelter for LGBT youth instead. He seems like a good person.”

Which would make it harder for Gabe to hate him. If he had a good reason to. Still a big if.

“Gabe.” She waited until he met her gaze. “Look, I know this is difficult, but you need to wait until we have the full picture. Your father was a good man, right?”

Gabe swallowed. “I always thought so.”

She reached across the table to grip his hand hard. “Then think so a little bit longer.” She released his hand, ignoring how right it had felt to hold it.

“It’s coming up on ten. Maybe your dad’s lawyer is in his office by now.”

“He’s not there,” Burke said. “We called already. He told his office manager that he was taking the week off. Family emergency, or so he said.”

She lifted her brows. “Or so he said? You don’t believe him?”

Burke shrugged. “He doesn’t have a family, as close as we can figure. He could have simply used that as an excuse, but the timing sucks for us.”

“The timing is interesting, for sure,” she murmured. “Gabe, is there anyone that your father might have confided in? Who was the executor of his estate?”

“His attorney, unfortunately.” Gabe sighed, his hurt at not being named executor clear on his face. “But there is Aunt Gigi.”

“I traced John Alan Industries to Gabe’s aunt,” Burke explained. “After a little untangling, she shows up as the president, but the address on record is a UPS box in Baton Rouge.”

“Oh?” She straightened, feeling a little surge of energy. “I assume you already tried to get in touch with Aunt Gigi, or you would have led with that.”

Burke snorted a laugh. “Got her voice mail, so we left a message. Her voice mail says she might call us back if she’s not doing anything more important.”

How rude, she thought, but was glad she didn’t voice the words because Gabe’s lips turned up, just a smidge.

“She’s feisty,” he said affectionately. “I think she’d like you all.”

She was glad to see that tiny smile. It erased some of the worry lines from his forehead. “I’d love to talk to her, then, when all this is over. But for now, we should drive to Baton Rouge and check the mailbox.”

Burke shook his head. “I already checked Rocky’s key ring. Nothing that looks like a key to a UPS box.”

“Well, shit,” she grumbled. “That would have been too easy, I guess.

Maybe the lawyer has a key. Has Antoine found anything on the laptop or the SIM card Rocky left in his car?”

“I called Joy at the office.” Burke shrugged. “She says that Antoine told her to tell me to leave him the hell alone until he was done. That you ‘can’t rush the process,’ whatever the hell that means.”

Molly sighed. “That sounds like Antoine. Don’t call us, we’ll call you.”

The man was one of the smartest she’d ever met, but he wasn’t the best at communicating with people. She turned to Gabe. “Since we’re not going to Baton Rouge, when are we leaving for Houston to talk to Cicely Morrow and her son?”

Gabe glanced at his watch. “As soon as we can. I was going to let you sleep a little more, but I’m anxious to get out there. If we leave in the next little bit, we can make it to Houston by midafternoon. Definitely before dark.”

“Before dark is optimal. Let me see what you’ve found, Burke.”

Burke turned his laptop around so that she could see his screen. It was the result of the background check that she should have done herself during the night but hadn’t gotten time to do before her brain crashed into sleep.

She’d seen the photo of Cicely Morrow, so she focused on Xavier. The newspaper photo they’d found was his senior picture from high school, the attached article discussing his academic achievements and the partial scholarship he’d earned to Rice University. Xavier was young, clean-cut, his hair buzzed on the sides and a neat mohawk colored blue and gold. The school’s colors, she realized from another photo embedded in the article. His smile was vivid, his eyes bright.

He looked happy. He’d also volunteered like crazy throughout high school, according to the article. Key Club, Meals on Wheels, tutoring homeless teens at the LGBT youth shelter. He seemed, like Gabe had indicated, a nice young man.

“Have you found his birth certificate?” Molly asked.

“Not yet,” Burke answered. “I was just about to do that.”

“Race ya,” she said, grabbing her own laptop and passing Burke’s back to him.

“What are you doing?” Gabe asked suspiciously.

“Looking for Xavier Morrow’s birth certificate,” Molly told him. “Don’t worry, nobody will trace this search to you. We use a VPN to maintain our privacy.”

Gabe scowled. “Is it legal?”

“It’s public record,” Burke said evasively.

“You’re hacking,” Gabe said flatly.

“We’re expediting the process using Antoine’s search engine.” Molly met his gaze. “Otherwise, it’ll take a long time. I don’t think we have a long time to wait.”

Gabe nodded, looking unconvinced.

Molly’s fingers flew over her keyboard, but Burke was a hair faster. He claimed victory seconds before her own screen filled with the image of Xavier Morrow’s birth certificate.

“Huh,” Burke said.

“Huh,” Molly echoed.

Gabe leaned in to see Burke’s screen. “Fuck,” he whispered.

Because twenty-two years ago, Angel Xavier Morrow had been born in New Orleans.

“We need to find him and talk to him,” Molly said. “It might yield nothing, Gabe. Or it might yield something you don’t want to hear. Let me go to Houston by myself.” She didn’t expect him to agree, but figured it was worth a try. “I’ll tell you whatever you need to know.”

“No,” he said quietly. “I’m going with you. I need to know the truth. If my father did make a trust for Xavier Morrow, I need to know. And I need to know why.”

Molly sighed. “I figured you’d say that. Let’s get on the road.”

I-10, East Texas

TUESDAY, JULY 26, 9:45 A.M.

“Can you tell him it’s urgent?” Xavier’s mother asked, on the phone with Le Petit Choux.

Apparently, Gabriel Hebert was not in the restaurant, nor had he been any of the four times his mother had called in the last hour.

Cicely sighed. “Thank you. I left my number in case he calls in. Do you still have it?” She waited a moment, then murmured, “You, too,” before ending the call.

“Maybe he’ll call you,” Willa Mae said from the driver’s seat, reaching across the console to pat his mother’s hand. “If a stranger had called me asking for one of my employees, I’d say the same thing. I’d refuse to say whether they were there or not, then take a number and contact the person myself. It’s a privacy thing, hon.”

“I know,” Cicely said. “It’s just so frustrating. Is that lawyer still behind us?”

Xavier looked up from the phone Carlos had loaned him, turning around from the captain’s chair in the middle to see the white BMW SUV trailing them, a little too close. “He’s still there.”

“That man’s kissin’ my back bumper,” Willa Mae groused. “I’d tan his hide if he were my man.”

Cicely chuckled. “He couldn’t handle you, Willa Mae, but I’d sure like to see him try.”

Willa Mae laughed. “Too true. You boys need a rest stop? Some cola or snacks?”

“No, ma’am, Miss Willa Mae,” Xavier said. His mother had bought them all waffles to go from the Waffle House, and they’d eaten their fill. “And Carlos and Manny are sound asleep.”

“No, I’m not,” Carlos muttered. “My ears are bleeding.”

Xavier choked a laugh into a cough. Except for when his mama had been calling Gabe Hebert’s restaurant, Willa Mae had been playing country music, of which Carlos was not a fan.

“I like it,” Manny said loudly.

Carlos’s head popped up, turning to the very back seat to stare at his brother. “You’re lying.”

Manny grinned. “Of course I’m lying,” he whispered. “But I’m polite and shit.”

Xavier rolled his eyes and resumed his search on Mr. Paul Lott. Once he’d been safely with his mother and her friend, he’d stopped to replay all the past day’s events in his mind, and one thing stuck out.

Lott’s voice had been different when they’d talked on the phone after Rocky had died. The man had sounded older. Less . . . New Orleans. Today his accent had been strong.

Xavier’s memory might not have been accurate. He’d been so overwhelmed with grief when Lott had called him to tell him that Rocky was dead. He might not be remembering right. But last night the man had glossed over his request to talk to Gabe Hebert, like he hadn’t even spoken. Which was annoying at best. Dangerous at worst.

Thus, he’d been searching for a photo of Lott. So far, he’d come up with nothing. Which was worrisome.

Of course, the man was older. Had to be forty at least. People that old didn’t always have a good grip on technology like websites and social media.

Paul Lott seemed to fall into that group. But there had to be a photo of him somewhere. He was a person who existed. He had to have touched the internet somewhere.

Willa Mae switched the country station back on, singing along reasonably on-key. She did sing in the church choir, after all. His mother rubbed her temples when Willa Mae sang, though.

Like Manny, Xavier’s mama was not a country music fan.

Oh. A link caught his eye. He was several pages into the search results, so he’d given up hope, but here was something. Paul Lott wins Legal Eagle tournament in a close contest.

He clicked on the link and got sent to a page for some attorneys’

association. Legal Eagle had been a golf tournament for lawyers in New Orleans, in Metairie to be exact. That was where Rocky had lived.

Xavier scrolled down, coming to a group photo. He pinched the photo to enlarge it, zooming in on the face of the guy who held the trophy.

Then gasped. “Holy shit.”

“Xavier,” Cicely scolded. “Language.”

“But, Mom.” Xavier’s voice shook. “Look at this. I finally found a photo of Paul Lott. And the guy following us is not him.”

His mother twisted in her seat, her expression tense, her hand out.

“Gimme.”

Willa Mae switched off the radio, leaving the car in total silence.

Cicely blew out a breath. “I was afraid of this,” she murmured.

“I knew it!” Manny exclaimed behind them. “I knew he was shady.”

“What do we do now?” Willa Mae asked. “I can try to lose him.”

Which she’d probably be able to do. For an older lady, she had quite the lead foot.

“No,” Cicely said quietly. “We have to assume that he’s up to no good, since he’s not who he says he is. He’s been nonviolent up until now. If we try to get away, that might change. We still have a few hours until we get to New Orleans. I’ll keep trying to reach Gabe Hebert. If we arrive before we talk to him, then . . .” She rubbed her temples. “I honestly don’t know.”

“We need a plan,” Carlos said, his jaw tight. “This asshole is not gonna get at X.”

The sound of a gun slide ratcheting echoed through the minivan. “I’m ready,” Manny said grimly. “If he comes up on Xavier’s side, everyone get down. Except for you, Miss Willa Mae. If he starts shooting, I’ll shoot back.”

“I can take care of myself,” Willa Mae said tartly.

“Nobody is shooting anybody,” Cicely insisted. “Anybody else,” she amended when Carlos pointed to Xavier. “We also need to find out what happened to the man you shot, son. You keep calling Le Petit Choux, and I’ll make some calls to the hospital.”

“Someone will want to know why,” Xavier said, ashamed that he sounded scared. But he was scared, dammit.

“I’ll call nurses who I trust. Don’t worry.”

But Xavier did, because his mother didn’t sound all that confident. But they did need to know what had happened to the guy. If he’d been treated and released, he could be after them, too.

Or he could be working with not-Paul-Lott.

“Wait,” Carlos said, whipping out his own phone. “That guy had ID. I took a photo.”

“IDs can be faked,” Manny said. “One of my old girlfriends had one before she was legal so she could get into the bars. Don’t ask me who or how,” he added when Willa Mae perked up, interested. Because Willa Mae was a retired attorney. “I’m not going to tell you.”

“Later,” Willa Mae vowed, then glanced at Cicely. “Don’t look at me that way. We both might need one someday. Especially if we have to go on the lam after all this.”

Cicely rubbed her temples once again. “We are not going on the lam, Willa Mae. I swear to the living God, we are not going to become Thelma and Louise.”

“Spoilsport,” Willa Mae said, pouting. “They were cool. Except for when they died at the end.”

“That was my point,” Cicely snapped, then chuckled. “You sly girl. You got my mind off being scared, for just a minute. Thank you, Thelma.”

Willa Mae looked at his mother fondly. “You’re welcome, Louise. Now call those hospitals. This inquiring mind wants to know.”

“You want me to call that restaurant for you?” Carlos asked Xavier softly.

Xavier had to smile at his best friend. “No. But thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Louise,” Carlos said, his grin strained.

Xavier discreetly flipped him the bird. Then dialed Gabriel Hebert’s restaurant.

“Le Petit Choux,” a woman answered. “How can I help you?”

It wasn’t the same person who’d talked to his mother. She’d used the speaker the first few times. That woman had sounded younger, twangier. This woman sounded like she meant business, and not in a good way.

Xavier licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry as a desert. “Hi. I’m trying to reach Gabriel Hebert. Is he in?”

The woman huffed. “Who are you?”

Xavier was afraid to give his name. “A friend of his father’s.” Complete silence met his ears. Xavier had to check to see if they were still connected, but they were. “Um, hello? Ma’am?”

Suddenly the background noise increased. People and cars. The woman had taken the call outside. “You sound a little young to have been a friend of Rocky Hebert.”

“I was,” Xavier insisted. “Please, it’s important. Life and death, even.”

Another tense few moments filled with horns and traffic. “What’s your name, kid?”

Xavier swallowed. “How do I know you’re really a friend of Gabe’s?”

She laughed, but it didn’t sound too nice. “How do I know you’re really a friend of Rocky’s? Look, kid, you called us. Trust me or don’t. I really don’t care.”

But she did. He could hear it in her voice. “My name is Xavier. Mr.

Hebert can reach me at this number. Thank you. Goodbye.” He ended the call and met Carlos’s probing gaze. “She sounded like a cop.”

Carlos closed his eyes. “Then let’s hope she’s a good one.”