Quarter to Midnight (A New Orleans Novel Book 1)

“THANK YOU,” GABE told the woman at the veterinarian’s office, who’d called because Shoe was ready to come home. “I’ve had to take a quick trip out of town. Can you keep him until I can pick him up later tonight?”

“Of course, Mr. Hebert,” she said kindly. “We all love Shoe here. He’s been an office favorite ever since your daddy brought him home from the shelter, may he rest in peace.”

“Thank you,” he said again, never knowing what to say when people said may he rest in peace. Because his father was not resting in peace. He’d been murdered and he wouldn’t rest peacefully until his killer was behind bars. Or dead. Gabe didn’t really care.

No, that wasn’t true. He’d like to see the killer dead.

“Shoe’s good?” Molly asked after he’d ended the call. She was driving them to Houston in her big red truck. Which made them kind of a target, Gabe thought.

But also had more ramming power than her other car, she’d asserted. And ramming power might come in handy if someone got too close.

That had made him feel better, although it probably shouldn’t have.

“What are we going to say when we find him?” Gabe asked, trying to plan the encounter in his mind.

“Well, we probably shouldn’t lead with ‘Are you Rocky Hebert’s secret second son?’ ” she said. “I think we should say the truth. That we found the payments to his mother through John Alan Industries and wanted to find out why. It’s a fair question.”

“And if he refuses to answer?”

“We cross that bridge when we get there.” She pointed to the radio. “Feel free to find something you like, if you want. I usually go for silence when I’m driving, but if music will help you, then go for it.”

“No, silence is good for me, too.” He pivoted in his seat, checking to see if anyone was following them.

“Nope,” Molly said, giving him an encouraging smile. “Nobody behind us. I’ve been watching.”

Because of course she had. She was good at her job. He nearly apologized again for doubting her but bit it back. “I didn’t get a chance to make you a proper breakfast.”

“No worries. The egg sandwich was just fine.”

It was really the leftover omelet that Burke had been too full to eat, sandwiched between two halves of a toasted bagel. He’d nearly refused to serve it to her, but she’d grabbed it and told him to stop being a food snob.

Which had made him laugh. Which had been her intent.

He let himself study her profile, taking the moment of quiet to admire her shiny blond hair that she’d tamed back into a bun. She was classically pretty, wearing no makeup. He liked that. He especially liked the curves below her pretty face. On a different day, under different circumstances, he’d like to explore those curves.

But that wouldn’t be today, he thought as his gaze landed on the gun at her hip.

She cleared her throat. “Something wrong, Gabe?”

Translated: Stop perving on me.

He searched for something to say that didn’t make him sound like the perv she clearly thought he was. “Why do you have a holster on your belt? Why not a shoulder holster?”

Her lips twitched. “You really want to know?”

Her tone said that he probably didn’t. “Maybe?”

“Shoulder holsters don’t work for . . . more buxom girls like me. Anything over a B cup and you can’t easily reach across your bosom to grab your gun.”

His mouth fell open, his mind now wondering what she was, if she wasn’t a B. And that was a really unwise train of thought. “I never would have considered that.”

“Men don’t,” she said dryly. “It’s an uncomfortable truth.”

He opened his mouth to say something more, then snapped it shut, making her laugh. She let him stew in his embarrassment until he was all but squirming in his seat like a teenage boy.

“I’m sorry,” she said, still laughing. “But the look on your face . . .”

He laughed, too, but was totally relieved when his cell phone rang, saving him from further discussion of her . . . endowment. But then he frowned when he saw the caller ID. “Burke?” he answered. “What’s wrong?”

“Put him on speaker,” Molly said, suddenly all business again.

“You’ve gotten a number of calls at the Choux this morning,” Burke said.

Fear grabbed his gut. “Is Patty okay?”

“She’s fine. Val’s with her.”

Okay, that’s good. Val was the bodyguard who Burke had assigned to keep Patty safe. “Then who’s calling me?”

“Cicely Morrow and her son, Xavier.”

Molly looked away from the road long enough to meet Gabe’s gaze, hers as startled as he figured his was. “Well, then,” she said. “Don’t keep us in suspense, Burke. What did they say?”

“Not much. I was going to call them but thought you might want to talk to them, Gabe.”

“I do. Give me their number.”

“I’ll text it to you,” Burke said. “Don’t call from your own phone. Use Molly’s burner.”

Gabe watched Molly retrieve a slim smartphone from her pocket. It wasn’t the cell with the pink sparkly case that she’d used to make other calls.

This one was a plain matte gray. She handed it to him. “Code is 465329,” she said.

“No face recognition?” he asked.

“Nope. Not secure, and cops can use it to get into your phone without your consent. Anything more, Burke?”

“Only that Cicely was firm but polite each of the four times she called.

That was according to your assistant manager. By the time Xavier called, Val and Patty had arrived, so Val answered. She said he sounded scared and told her that it was a matter of life and death.”

“Timing is interesting,” Molly observed.

“Damn straight,” Burke said. “I want to listen in on your call. Call me first, then I’ll patch them in. I’ll call the number that Xavier left with Val. He won’t know that I’m there.”

“Nice trick,” Gabe muttered. When this was over, he was going to ask them to teach him their ways. “I’ll hang up now and call you from Molly’s phone.”

He did so, putting on the speaker, then waited anxiously for Burke to patch them in, relaxing the tiniest bit when Molly reached for his free hand and gave it a squeeze, just as she’d done while they’d sat at his kitchen table calmly talking about whether or not his father had cheated on his mother with Cicely Morrow.

This time, though, when she started to pull away, he held on. She shot him a look that was hard to read until she smiled. “It’ll be okay,” she mouthed.

“Relax.”

He tried. He really tried. But then a tremulous male voice answered the phone. “Hello?”

“I’m looking for Xavier,” Gabe said gruffly, hoping his ill feelings toward this kid weren’t too obvious.

The swallow was audible. “Who is this?”

“Gabriel Hebert.”

“It’s him,” Xavier said to someone on his end. “Gabe Hebert.”

“Oh, thank the good Lord,” a woman said from farther away. “Ask if you can put him on speaker.”

“That was my mother,” Xavier said. “Can I? Put you on speaker, I mean.”

“Sure.”

A second later, the background noise grew louder. They were also in a moving vehicle. He wanted to ask, but let Xavier take the lead. The guy had called him, after all.

“You still there?” Xavier asked.

“I am. Why did you call me?”

“Um . . . Well, this isn’t gonna be easy for you to believe. At least I hope not. I mean . . . Never mind. I was a friend of your father’s.”

Not his son. A friend. “All right. But you sound a little young to be a friend of my dad’s.”

“You’re not surprised,” Xavier said faintly. “You already knew about me?”

“Not really. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” A squeeze to his hand had him looking at Molly, who was shaking her head.

“Be nice,” she mouthed.

She was right, of course. “Please,” he added.

“Well, I knew your dad from when I was a little kid. I, um—”

“Tell him later,” another male voice hissed. “In person. When we know he’s the real deal.”

“Who’s with you?” Gabe asked sharply.

“My mom and my best friend.” He sighed. “And my best friend’s brother and my mom’s best friend. We’re . . . well, we’re kind of on the run.

Someone tried to kill me last night and Rocky told me that if that ever happened, I should come to you.”

“Oh.” Gabe blinked, not having expected any of that. Xavier was traveling with a damn entourage. And someone had tried to kill him. Just like someone might have done to me if Molly hadn’t chased them away before they could poison Shoe.

The timing was damn interesting.

“You have my attention, Xavier. Please go on.”

“Yes, sir.” The young man inhaled, then exhaled loudly. “Okay. I didn’t know your number, so I called Mr. Lott. Do you know him?”

“My dad’s lawyer? Yes. I’ve known him for years.”

“Okay,” Xavier said again, and Gabe felt genuinely sorry for him. He was clearly terrified. Join the club, Xavier Morrow. “Like I said, I called Mr. Lott and asked for your number. He kind of ignored me.”

“He didn’t ‘kind of’ ignore you,” a third male voice said. Gruffer and more gravelly than either Xavier’s or his best friend’s voice. “He totally ignored you.”

“All right, all right,” Xavier snapped. “He totally ignored me, then said that he’d come and get me and take me to you.”

“Did he tell you that he called me?” Gabe asked.

“No. He didn’t really talk about you at all. Did he call you?”

“No. I haven’t talked to him since my father died. I take it that you didn’t go with him.”

“No, I didn’t. I told my mom about it and she said that I shouldn’t go with him, that your father had told her to only trust you. So, we came in our own vehicle—well, it’s my mom’s friend’s minivan—and he’s following behind us. Except it’s not him.”

Molly straightened at that, briefly letting go of the wheel to twirl her finger, gesturing for him to ask more questions about that. She hadn’t let his hand go, though, and that made him feel, well, not better, but at least more secure.

“What does that mean?” Gabe asked. “That it’s ‘not him’?”

“It’s not Paul Lott,” Xavier said. “I found a photo of Lott—which was damn hard to do, by the way—and your dad’s lawyer looks way different than this guy. This guy is a lot younger, too. I’d thought that he sounded a little different, which is why I searched for his face.”

Gabe blinked some more. “That’s . . . wow. I don’t even know where to start with that.”

“I know, right?” Xavier said, sounding very young. “I don’t know what to do now.”

Molly was motioning again. “Ask if he called the cops,” she mouthed.

“Did you, um, call the police?”

A very, very long silence. Then Xavier exhaled again. “No. I don’t want to tell you why until I see that it’s really you and not another faker.”

Gabe nodded, wondering how deep the cops were burrowed into this disaster. “Understandable. Where are you?”

“East Texas, about four and a half hours from you.”

Molly mouthed, “Ask if they need protection.”

“Do you need protection?”

“Yes!” the best friend exclaimed. “Tell him yes!”

“Mom? I think Carlos is right. We should say yes.”

“Then say yes,” Cicely said with not a small amount of exasperation.

“What are you driving?” Gabe asked.

“Gray minivan,” another woman called out. Probably the mom’s friend.

“Honda Odyssey, 2015, gray. Has a Save the Whales bumper sticker. It was there when I bought it used,” she added, sounding a little embarrassed.

Gabe nearly smiled. Xavier’s entourage was quite the motley crew. “I’ll call you back at this number, but we’re headed your way. We can meet you at a midpoint and follow you.”

“Don’t be obvious about it.” This came from the gruff voice, maybe Carlos’s brother? “If this guy thinks we’re onto him, he could start shooting.

He said he was ‘prepared.’ I assume that means he’s carrying.”

“Sounds like a good assumption,” Gabe said, because it did.

“Wait,” Xavier said. “Who is ‘we’? You said ‘we’re headed your way.’

Who’s with you?”

Gabe looked at Molly, who shrugged. “My name is Molly Sutton,” she told him. “I’m a private investigator. And I’ll tell you why I’m with Gabe when I see that it’s really you and not some faker.”

“Rude, man,” the gruff voice said.

“Very rude,” the mother’s best friend echoed. “You should have said who was with you.”

“Perhaps,” Gabe allowed. “But you called me. I need to be sure who I’m dealing with as well.”

“It’s fair,” Xavier said grudgingly. “What are you driving?”

“Big-ass truck,” Molly said. “Toyota Tundra. Fire-engine red. Bumper sticker says sad face plus horse equals happy face. And it wasn’t there when I bought it.”

Xavier snorted softly. “I guess we’ll see you in a few hours. Where are you now?”

Gabe glanced at Molly. “Tell him if you want to,” she mouthed.

“Just leaving New Orleans,” he said. “We were on our way to see you.”

“Oh. Okay.” Xavier sounded as overwhelmed as Gabe felt. “Call us when you get close to Lafayette. That’s about halfway between us. We can coordinate a meeting place.”

“That sounds good,” Gabe said. “See you soon, Xavier.”

“Gabe, wait. I’m sorry about your father. He was a really, really good man.”

“You’ll tell me how you knew him when we meet?”

“Yes, sir. It’ll all make sense then. I hope.”

Gabe ended the call then turned to Molly. “Should I call Burke back?”

“He’ll call you.”

Molly’s burner phone buzzed, and Gabe put it on speaker. “Well?” he asked.

“That was . . . unexpected,” Burke said. “But you did good, Gabe. I’ll prepare the office and get secure housing for Xavier and his friends. All five of them.”

“What’s that about?” Gabe asked. “Why bring so many people?”

“My guess is that being nearly murdered has everyone in Xavier’s orbit on edge,” Burke said, “but we’ll find out when y’all get back to New Orleans.

Drive safely.”

And then it was only Molly and Gabe. And she was still holding his hand.

Gabe tightened his grip, not planning to let her go anytime soon.

Tulane-Gravier, New Orleans, Louisiana

TUESDAY, JULY 26, 10:30 A.M.

“How’d your meeting go, sir?” James asked as Lamont slid into the back seat of the town car. Thank God for A/C. The DA kept his office hotter than a sauna.

“Well enough, thank you for asking.” Lamont handed a paper sack over the seat. “DA’s secretary brought in beignets. Thought you might like one.”

James took the bag with an appreciative nod. “Thank you kindly. Are they from Café Du Monde?”

“Nah. Some knockoff, but still pretty good.” He buckled his seat belt and let himself relax. “I’m going for an early lunch, James. Take me to Le Petit Choux.”

“Absolutely, sir. You must like that place. I think this is the fifth time this month that you’ve stopped in for lunch.”

That won’t do. He should have realized that James would keep track.

“They’ve got amazing prawns in garlic butter. But maybe you’re right. I don’t want to become predictable.”

James glanced up to the rearview, visibly dismayed. “Oh, no, sir. I shouldn’t have said anything. If you like the food, you should go there.”

“No, I think you’re right. Don’t want to get into a rut, now, do I? Take me to Remy’s. I have a craving for fried chicken. I’ll call in the order for both of us and you can pick it up.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. With all this traffic, it’ll give them plenty of time to get it ready.”

Traffic was awful, thanks to that goddamn Satchmo festival. Why people felt the need to start partying a week ahead of time was beyond him.

He texted Ashley to send him a file to read to pass the time, then settled in. Only to have his phone buzz in his pocket. He looked at the screen, his pulse speeding up at the number.

It was a text from Tyson Whitley. It’s a beautiful day.

Lamont breathed out a sigh of relief. Stockman was dead and couldn’t be traced to him. He’d paid his right-hand man in cash, so there was no paper trail. Stockman had never carried ID, had paid everything with cash, and Stockman wasn’t even his real name.

He had no idea if his former assistant had a family, nor did he care. Theirs was a transactional business relationship. Nothing more.

Loose end, snipped.

And, like the cherry on top, he had a missed call from Cornell Eckert. If the man knew what was good for him, he was calling to say that he’d finished the job that Stockman had fucked up. He dialed Eckert’s number and the man answered on the first ring.

“Finally,” Eckert snapped. “I’ve been trying to reach you for fucking hours.”

“Be very careful,” Lamont cautioned coldly. “You work at my pleasure.”

A beat of silence. “Of course, sir.” Except that Eckert’s sir sounded a lot less respectful than James’s sir.

Lamont was losing his patience. “What is it?”

“The mark’s on the move, but he has a posse. Currently in a minivan, heading east on I-10.”

“Why is he still—” Breathing. “Driving?”

“That’s what I was trying to let you know when I called before. I got to his house at about four a.m. It was deserted, but someone got hurt there.

There was a lot of blood. Wasn’t sure if it was the mark or my predecessor.”

“The latter,” Lamont said flatly.

“That’s what I figured. So, I waited to see if the mark would come back.

And he did, but with a posse, like I said. And three of the four of them had guns, including the mark. Didn’t think you’d want me to leave witnesses and I didn’t want to get into a gunfight on a private street. I slid a tracker under the junker the mark was riding in. He was with two Latino dudes. And a third guy—white, about forty—who drove his own car. Fancy Beemer. White SUV.”

That surprised him. “Did you get the plate?”

“Sure did. Guy’s some lawyer out of New Orleans.”

Lamont blinked. “Are you sure?”

“If he’s not, then he stole the lawyer’s car. Beemer’s registered to a Paul Lott. Know him?”

Oh yes. “No,” he lied, “but I know who to ask.” After he was out of the town car and in a secure place, he was going straight to the source. Paul had a lot of explaining to do. “So you’re—” Biting back following them, he glanced up at James, who was bopping his head to a tune only he could hear. Not paying attention to me. “You’re with them?”

“Yeah. The junker with the tracker stopped at a Waffle House outside of Houston. The mark and the two Latino guys changed from the junker to a minivan, registered to Willa Mae Collins—also a lawyer, by the way. Twenty minutes later, two older ladies came out of the Waffle House with Paul Lott.

The two ladies got into the minivan with the mark and the Latino guys and Paul Lott got into the Beemer. Then they all got on I-10 and headed east.

Toward you.”

Lamont had figured that out for himself already. Why were they headed this way? And why the hell had Paul Lott gone to meet with Xavier Morrow?

How did he even know where Xavier was? Goddammit.

“Stay on them,” Lamont ordered. “I’ll call you later with more specific instructions.”

“Got it. Not in a place where you can talk?”

“Not right now.”

“Then I’ll stay on their tail and wait for your call.”

I-10, Baton Rouge, Louisiana

TUESDAY, JULY 26, 1:45 P.M.

“Gabe?”

Gabe jolted back to reality, having been staring at the cars on the interstate all around them. He quickly turned to Molly because she sounded tense.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need you to text a license plate number to Burke. Now.”

He grabbed her burner phone from the center console and put in her unlock code. “Ready.” She fired off a license plate number, and he read it back to her before hitting send. “What’s going on?”

“I have no idea,” she said, not taking her eyes from the road. “But we appear to have some kind of a caravan going on. Do you see Xavier’s gray minivan?”

The minivan actually belonged to Willa Mae Collins, according to Burke’s earlier license plate search. Miss Collins was an attorney, which had Gabe wondering why Xavier needed one.

“I do.” The minivan was about eight cars in front of them. “And I see the white BMW SUV directly behind them.” The car driven by someone pretending to be his father’s attorney.

They now knew that the SUV did belong to Paul Lott. Burke had confirmed this after running the SUV’s plate as well. Burke had been trying to get in touch with either the attorney or his office administrator ever since, but so far, he’d had no luck.

“Do you see the grayish-green Jeep four cars behind the white SUV?”

It took him a second, but then he nodded when he focused in on the vehicle. “Yeah. Why?”

“Because he’s following, too.”

Gabe blinked in surprise. “What? How do you know?”

“He was waiting on the shoulder when we merged onto the interstate from the rest stop.”

Gabe and Molly had met up with Xavier and his group at a gas station outside of Lafayette, where Cicely Morrow and her friend had gone inside to use the facilities. Molly had told Gabe to hunker down in the front seat. Gabe hadn’t wanted to hide, but he also didn’t want Xavier hurt if the Paul Lott imposter suspected they were onto him, so he’d conceded. That one time. He wasn’t as big as Burke, but he was still six feet tall, and hiding in the footwell had been damned uncomfortable.

Carefully watching their surroundings, Molly had topped off her gas tank at the station while the ladies were inside. Whoever was posing as Paul Lott hadn’t gotten out of his SUV. After ten minutes, both ladies emerged from the restroom, deliberately not looking at the red truck, just as Molly had instructed them.

Then they’d all gotten back on the interstate toward New Orleans. Gabe hadn’t noticed the green Jeep merge from the shoulder, but he believed that Molly had.

Being around Molly and Burke made him wish that he’d honed his observational skills over the years. But he was a chef, not a former cop. He was going to have to cut himself some slack and let Molly do her job.

“You’ve got a good eye,” he said simply, and she flashed him a tight smile.

“Thank you. Can you text Burke and ask him to run that plate? I saw the Jeep following us when we got back on the road, so I drifted back so that traffic could pass and get between us. I’ve been behind him for at least fifteen miles and he’s glued to the same spot—four cars behind the white SUV.

Every time someone pulls into the next lane, he compensates, drifting back until someone gets in front of him. He’s maintaining a four-car gap and, while it could be his way of staying awake as he drives, I’m not gonna bet on it.”

“Me either,” he muttered, because it had been that kind of day already.

Burke’s reply flashed onto his phone’s screen. “Burke says that he’s running it now.”

“Tell him the vehicle is following Xavier. And ask him if Antoine has found anything yet.”

Gabe typed in her messages to Burke then waited for the man’s reply.

The first text, which Gabe figured was a reaction to the Jeep following Xavier, said: WTF!

A minute later, the next text was not much wordier. No.

Molly scowled when he passed it on. “What is taking Antoine so damn long?”

Gabe shrugged. “How long does it usually take him to recover a wiped hard drive?”

“A few days maybe?”

“It’s only been a day.”

“Why are you so logical right now?” she asked with a frown.

He smiled at her. “Because you’re on the job.”

She laughed. “Bullshit.”

“Maybe a little,” he allowed. “But only a little. You saw the Jeep, and you chased away the dog poisoner. You make me a little calmer.”

Her expression softened, her gaze still locked on the road in front of them.

“That’s nice, Gabe. Thank you.”

He considered his next words, then figured why the hell not. “You used to calm me whenever you’d come to the Choux.”

She startled at that. “I did?”

“You did. I’d be having a bad day, and then I’d see you having lunch with your friends or even all alone. I’d bring your meal out and after that my day would go better.”

She chanced a quick glance at him, eyes wide. “I . . . I didn’t think you even knew I was there.”

He huffed a quiet chuckle. “Oh, I knew. Do you think I take meals out to everyone?”

“I guess I didn’t notice.”

“Patty did. Teased me unmercifully.”

Her lips quirked up. “I guess I should say that I’m sorry, but I’m not.”

“Neither am I.” And then he relaxed even more because she laid her hand on the console, palm up. He slid their hands together, twining his fingers through hers.

“So why didn’t you ask me out?”

“Scared, I guess. Plus, busy. And I got burned by women the last time or two. Like I said before, they think it’s romantic to date a chef who’s been on TV. But the reality is a lot of late nights and missed dates.”

“Kind of like a cop-turned-PI?”

He wondered if she dated much but held the question for later. But he would ask if she was single. And if she was, he was taking this as fate and asking her out. They just had to get back to New Orleans in one piece first.

“What’s your plan on the Jeep?”

“I was going to create a disturbance so that Willa Mae could take our exit but the BMW couldn’t. With our newest caravan member, I’m not going to be able to do that without endangering traffic. I’m going to need Burke’s help.”

As if on cue, Molly’s burner rang, Burke’s number on the caller ID. Gabe put it on speaker.

“What did you find?” Molly asked.

“You’re not going to believe this. The owner of the Jeep is Cornell Eckert.

He’s a hit man. I recognize the name from when I was on the force. Nobody could ever get anything to stick on him. Guy was like Teflon. Word on the street was that he had friends in high places.”

“Within the NOPD, you mean,” Molly clarified.

“Unfortunately, yes. He disappeared shortly before I quit, and at the time nobody knew where he’d gone. And now his car shows up following behind a twenty-two-year-old who someone failed to kill last night. Surprise, surprise.”

“Fucking hell,” Molly muttered. “That changes my plan a little. If the Paul Lott impersonator was planning to bring Xavier back to New Orleans, it won’t hurt to allow him to follow Xavier and the minivan into the city a little ways. I’d like you to take point on the minivan. Coordinate with Xavier and his entourage. Get behind them when they get into the city and block the SUV from following them. I’ll make sure that Mr. Eckert the hit man doesn’t exit the interstate with them.”

Gabe stared at her. “How? Ramming power?”

Her grin was small and quick. “No. I’m not going to endanger the rest of the people on the highway. But he’ll probably get mad at us, so I’ll ask you to duck down when we get close to that point.” His poor opinion of that plan must have shown on his face, because she added, “If he’s following Xavier, he might have orders to take care of you, too.”

A chill raced down Gabe’s back, because while he had thought of that, he hadn’t wanted to. “I hate that footwell.”

“I know you do,” she said soothingly. “I’d hate it, too, if our positions were reversed. But it’ll be easier for me if I don’t have to worry about you getting shot.”

“Eckert’s a good shot, too,” Burke said. “Not sniper-level good, but it’s said that he doesn’t miss what he’s aiming at. He’s careful and leaves no trace. Or at least no trace that can’t be wiped away if you know the right people.”

“I’m beginning to hate those people,” Gabe snarled.

“I’m already there,” Burke said. “I’m going to request backup. I’ve got a call in to André Holmes. That’s Antoine’s brother, Gabe. And you’ll be driving into his jurisdiction. He’s the cop who made sure the right person from the sheriff’s department showed up at your father’s house last night. I’ll let you know if he’s in. Oh, he’s calling now. I’ll call you back.”

Molly was tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. “Can you get Xavier on the phone? He and his friends need to know to watch out for the Jeep.”

Gabe complied, grateful for something concrete to do. “Xavier, it’s Gabe,” he said when the young man picked up. “Molly wants to talk to you.

Put it on speaker.”

“What’s wrong?” Xavier asked.

Molly told him about the Jeep, being straight with them that the driver was a hit man. Cicely Morrow made an anguished sound. “Try not to worry, ma’am,” Molly told Cicely. “We’re pulling together a plan. For now, it’s best if Xavier isn’t visible.”

“I’m getting on the floor.” Xavier sounded even more shaken, poor guy.

“Mama, you, too.”

“No, that would look even stranger.” Cicely’s voice firmed. “Let him try.”

“Mama!” Xavier hissed. “What the hell?”

“Willa Mae had two,” was all she said.

“Fucking hell,” Xavier muttered.

“Two of what?” Gabe asked.

“You don’t want to know,” Willa Mae called cheerfully. “But we’re good.”

“Fucking hell,” Molly muttered. “Do you guys all have weapons?”

“Duh,” Carlos said, then yelped. “Don’t hit me, X. That hurt.”

“It was supposed to.”

“They aren’t cops!”

“We don’t know who they are, asswipe,” Carlos’s brother said.

Molly shook her head. “Just . . . keep them out of sight. If you get stopped by a cop, and he finds weapons, I can’t help you.”

“I’m not foolish,” Cicely said gravely. “But neither will I allow someone to threaten my son’s life.”

Molly sighed. “Fair enough. Miss Willa Mae, how well do you know New Orleans?”

“I worked in the Quarter when I was in school. Hasn’t changed all that much, I don’t expect.”

“Probably not,” Gabe agreed. “You might get a call from a guy named Burke. You can trust him, Xavier. He was also a friend of my father.”

“His old partner?”

Gabe hid a flinch. If his dad had told Xavier about Burke, then they’d been closer than he’d thought. That stung and made him wonder what other secrets his father had kept. “Yeah, he’s the one. Molly works with him. He’s going to find a way to separate you from the white SUV.”

“Okay,” Xavier said. “I wish you’d told me about Burke when you first called. I wouldn’t have been freaking out over Miss Sutton’s Wikipedia page.”

Molly wasn’t able to hide her flinch, not at all. “I have a Wikipedia page?”

“Yes, ma’am, you do,” Xavier said respectfully. “Just the part about what happened in North Carolina. It says that you’re now a PI, but it doesn’t say who you work for. I have to say, though, if Burke Broussard trusts you, then it really must have been self-defense.”

“Okay,” Molly said. She seemed rattled, and Gabe hated to see it. “Well, thank you, Xavier. And Miss Cicely, I totally get defending your family, but it’s better if you can avoid the situation. Take it from me.”

“I understand,” Cicely said, so quietly that her reply was almost inaudible.

“We’ll be in touch,” Molly promised.

“Take care, y’all, and be careful,” Gabe said, then hit end. He looked at Molly, who appeared to be miserable. “You didn’t know about your internet presence?”

“I knew that there were stories. Newspaper articles and all that. But . . .

dammit. It shouldn’t make a difference that there’s a Wiki page for me.” Her lips trembled and she pursed them. “But it does.”

“You can get it taken down.”

“And I will. But another will pop up in its place. It really doesn’t end.

That’s why we have to make it so that Cicely Morrow doesn’t have to shoot anyone to keep her son alive.”

This time Gabe made the move, taking her hand and holding it tightly.

She squeezed his hand as she drove with her free one clutching the wheel in a white-knuckled grip.

He didn’t let go when her burner rang again.

“I talked to André,” Burke said as soon as Gabe hit accept. “As soon as I told him that someone was driving Paul Lott’s SUV, he got really interested.

Turns out there’s a reason why I haven’t been able to reach Lott’s assistant.

She’s been at NOPD, getting questioned.”

“For?” Molly asked, although Gabe figured they both already knew the answer.

Gabe was so tired. “Lott’s dead, isn’t he?” He should probably feel bad about that, but he was too numb to feel much of anything except total exhaustion.

“Beaten up and shot in the head in his own house, probably last night.

Place was ransacked and his laptop and wallet were taken. Cops were working it as a burglary gone wrong. Needless to say, André was very interested in providing backup to make sure that Xavier gets here safely. I didn’t even have to tell him why Xavier, his mother, and their friends were coming to see us, but I imagine he’ll want to know.”

“I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Molly said, sounding as tired as Gabe felt. “This is not good, Burke. I’m grateful for André’s help, but I do not want to get too beholden to NOPD or give them a reason to get their claws into our operation.”

“I agree completely, but I trust André. This means that they’ll pull the Lott imposter over once you separate the green Jeep. He’s sending a cop he trusts to follow the Jeep. All you have to do is shepherd everyone to the exit, make sure that the minivan and the SUV veer off, and keep the Jeep from following them.”

Molly nodded. “I can do that.”

“I’ll call you back when I have more details. You holding up okay, Gabe?”

“Yep. Molly has it under control. I’m just assisting with the phone.”

Burke chuckled. “Let’s keep it that way. No playing the hero.”

Gabe wasn’t promising anything. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

Molly shot him a knowing glance before returning her gaze to the road.

“You planning something, Gabe?”

“Only if I have to. I’m not bad with a handgun. Like I said, I went to the target range with my dad a lot.”

She was quiet for a long moment, then said softly, “There’s a pistol in a lockbox in the console. Combo is four, three and two together, then one. It’s a Glock, unloaded. Full magazine is in the glove box. Better be ready in case you have to defend yourself. But unless everything goes to shit and someone takes me out, you let me lead. Okay?”

He did not like the thought of anyone taking her out. “Okay.”

She frowned. “Promise me.”

He hesitated. “I promise.” To keep you safe if we come to that point.