“EXCUSE ME, SIR.” Ashley stood in the doorway to Lamont’s office, her expression uncertain.
Because Joelle was sitting in one of his visitor chairs, having finally roused herself from her stupor and charged past Ashley’s desk and into his office to demand why he’d sprayed her perfume all over the bed in his study at home. His wife hadn’t bought his excuse of wanting the room to smell like her.
Apparently, she really had been suspecting that he was having an affair with Ashley. At least Ashley had gone home to shower. She now smelled like her own perfume, lighter and less cloying than Joelle’s.
Which Joelle knew because she’d sniffed Ashley on her way in. Because of course she had.
“What is it, Ashley?” he asked, grateful for the interruption.
“You’ve got a call on line one. I tried to let you know, but the intercom is turned off.”
He glanced at the intercom on his desk. Sure enough, it was turned off and Joelle’s expression had become smug. Bitch. “I’m so sorry, Ash. I must have knocked it by mistake. Did you get a name?”
“No, sir. The man wouldn’t give one, but he said it was urgent. Something about the cold case you’ve been working.”
He managed to control his frown. The only cold case he was currently working was his own. And as soon as Cornell Eckert killed Xavier Morrow, that case could close. Of course, there was still the question of why Paul Lott was driving from Houston to New Orleans, but the lawyer hadn’t returned his call yet.
Lott wouldn’t be protecting Xavier. Unless he’s double-crossed us.
“Tell him to give me a minute to conclude this meeting with my wife.”
Ashley closed the door and Joelle turned on him. “You are not dismissing me.”
He wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose, because the bitch was giving him a headache, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that she’d gotten under his skin. “This is my place of business, Joelle. I’m happy to continue this conversation at home later, but now I have to do my job.” He rose, walked around his desk, and yanked her to her feet. “You have to go.”
She opened her mouth to argue, based on the set of her mouth, but he leaned in and whispered, “Don’t make me call a guard to escort you out. It demeans us both. And it’ll be on the front page of the society section before you’re out the door.”
That got her attention. Joelle hated the thought of being ridiculed by society. Funny, because those same people would have been hiring her to serve their guests at parties wearing a French maid costume before he’d married her.
She twisted out of his grip because he allowed it. “I’ll see you at home.”
A sly smirk tilted her lips. “And I’ll show you the footage.”
He stopped dead in his tracks. “The what?”
She just smiled wider. He used to like that smile. Now it reminded him of a viper. “Didn’t I tell you? I had security cameras installed in that little room off your study. I imagine my attorney will find it most illuminating.”
He gritted his teeth. “What do you want, Joelle?”
Her smile disappeared. “I want you to break up with that whore.”
Oh, you are so going to die. And I’m going to make it hurt. A lot. Divorce was way too good for her. That he had to wait until after he was elected to deal with her made him even angrier. “As you wish.”
She laughed. “See? Was that so hard? I want her fired, too.”
Bitch, bitch, bitch. “That may be harder to do.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Find a way, Monty.”
She knew he hated to be called that. He forced his clenched fist to loosen.
“Yes, dear.”
With a flourish, she was out of the room, closing the door behind her. He took a moment to wonder what she was saying to Ashley. Then realized that there wasn’t anything he could do to help Ashley now. He’d find a nice place for her to work in one of the other offices and he’d hire himself a new secretary. A pretty one.
At least he wouldn’t have to kill this mistress to keep the secret from this wife.
Pushing the whole clusterfuck from his mind, he sat behind his desk and jabbed the button for line one, picking up the receiver. No way would this call go on speaker. “Yes?”
“It’s me.”
Jackass. “I’ll call you right back.” He switched to his personal cell phone and, walking to the window, he dialed, rewinding the previous evening in his mind. He realized that he never did find out who Jackass’s mole was at Le Petit Choux. “Well? Who is it?” he asked as soon as the call had connected.
“Who is which?” Jackass asked warily.
For the love of . . . “Last night. At Le Petit Choux. You texted me that your mole had seen me. You were also supposed to find out where that PI works, the one who was shadowing Gabe Hebert and his cousin.”
“Oh, that. The PI works for Burke Broussard.”
Well, fuckety fuck. He knew that name. That was the guy who’d nearly turned NOPD upside down with his accusations of wrongdoing a few years back. Broussard would have been right, of course, but luckily, he’d listened to reason—a.k.a. threats—and quit. I knew that asshole would come back to bite us in the ass someday.
Looked like someday was now. “Gabriel Hebert hired Burke Broussard?”
“His daddy was one of Broussard’s old partners.”
“Oh, right.” He’d forgotten about that. “Makes sense, then.”
“It seems that Rocky’s kid suspects. Are we ready to kill him now?”
Jackass’s tone was filled with condescension and I-told-you-so. Bastard.
Lamont would deal with him later. Right now, they needed to stop Gabe Hebert from digging—and more importantly, they needed to find out what got him suspicious. There might be a few loose threads that they hadn’t snipped, God forbid. “I suppose we should. Proposals?”
“You know he’s gonna be harder to kill now.”
“Yes,” Lamont said, grinding his teeth, “I figured that out on my own.”
“You’ve always been the smarter one.” Again said in such a condescending way it was clear that the opposite was what he meant.
Goddamn motherfucker. He’d deal with Jackass after Gabe Hebert was dead. At least they hadn’t agreed on anything in writing. “When?”
“As soon as I can arrange it safely. I’m not keen on gettin’ caught.”
“I agree.” Not that you’ll have to worry for long. He’d have to kill the man himself since Stockman was dead, but that was okay. He hadn’t gotten his hands dirty for a long time and he’d rather missed it. But he would do it intelligently.
He was too close to having everything he’d always wanted to fuck it up now.
Once Jackass was out of the way, Lamont would have to take care of Lott.
Or maybe he could get Eckert to do it for him. “Have you heard from Paul Lott?”
“Personally? Not since we visited Rocky. Why?”
Their “visit” to Rocky Hebert had been the night they’d killed him.
“Because Paul was in Houston this morning. Visiting Rocky’s young friend.”
And following him back to New Orleans, but he’d keep that fact in his back pocket.
“What?” The surprise was clearly feigned. Entirely fake. “That’s not possible.”
What are you up to? “And why not?”
“Because Paul Lott is dead.”
“He’s what?”
“He’s dead. Poor fella was the victim of a burglary gone wrong last night.
Perp shot him in the head. May he rest . . . in pieces.”
Rage began to bubble, and Lamont thought the top of his head might actually blow off. “Why?”
“Why what?” Jackass drawled with faux innocence.
“Why did you kill him?”
“I didn’t.”
“So you hired someone else? Was it the person who was following the PI yesterday?” Please tell me that you haven’t brought an entire team into this.
That would be a lot of people to kill. And I have a packed calendar already.
“Relax, for goodness’ sake,” Jackass said. “It’s not like I have a full staff.”
“Yeah, you do.” That was the problem.
A chuckle rumbled through the phone. “Well, that’s true enough. But don’t worry. I’d never turn them on you. We’re partners. But—just so you know, of course—if somethin’ happens to me that’s unexplainable—an accident maybe? Then they’ll come after you.”
“You—” Sonofabitch. He caught the word before it left his mouth. “You don’t have a thing to worry about. Is the guy who killed Lott the same one driving his SUV right now?”
“Oh. Well, you are full of surprises today, aren’t you? Yes, he is. Not to worry. I trust him completely.”
I’m so glad that you trust him. Now I have to watch my own back.
“And I’m so glad I sent him,” Jackass continued. “Especially since your man failed at the task.”
Lamont swallowed his gasp, but Jackass must have heard, because the man chuckled. “You’re probably wondering how I know?” Jackass said smugly.
Lamont ground his teeth. “How do you?”
“The kid called Paul Lott’s phone last night. Said someone tried to kill him. Luckily, one of my men was on the scene and intercepted the call. We’ll be chatting about the secrets you keep, Monty. I’ll call you soon.”
And the call ended before Lamont realized that Jackass hadn’t told him why he’d had Lott killed. It might have been that Lott had gotten cold feet and planned to confess what they’d done. Rocky’s attorney hadn’t initially wanted to kill him. He’d only wanted cash for Xavier Morrow’s name.
Which Lott had only known was important because apparently Jackass had asked him—more than five years before—to keep an eye out for anything Rocky did that was out of the ordinary with respect to a Katrina investigation.
Just in case the cop started poking into it again.
None of which Lamont had known anything about until a little over six weeks ago. He hadn’t known that there had been an eyewitness. Hadn’t known that Rocky had been investigating. Hadn’t known the fucker had lied about the name of the eyewitness after being pressed for an ID when he’d resurrected the case on the tenth anniversary of Katrina.
They could thank Paul Lott for giving them the eyewitness’s real name after Rocky had asked that he set up a trust for Angel Xavier Morrow. Paul had been surprised, and remembering Jackass’s request, had searched
“Xavier” against the Katrina database, found that he was the surviving child of a victim. He’d been five years old. Not old enough to be a believable witness.
Except that he’d seen Lamont’s scar, the scar that he didn’t really have anymore, but that plenty of photographs had documented before he’d had plastic surgery. So the kid, now a twenty-two-year-old, was a giant threat.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. Not by a long shot.
That Jackass had discovered Xavier Morrow’s whereabouts had not been a consideration, but he had, and now Lamont was left with too many questions. Why had Jackass had Paul Lott killed? Who was the man he’d sent to meet with Xavier? Why hadn’t they just killed the kid in Houston? Why were they driving to New Orleans?
And, speaking of, he dialed Cornell Eckert. “Status?”
“Coming close to New Orleans. What do you want me to do with the lawyer’s SUV?”
“Kill the driver.”
“And all the other people in the minivan?”
“Kill them, too. And then, if you’re interested, I’d like to offer you a job.”
Eckert laughed. “I don’t think you could afford me full-time, boss man.”
“I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised with what I have to offer. Text me when the matter is completed, and we’ll talk some more. I think all of the new zeros in your bank account will speak volumes.”
“We’ll see. Gotta go. Coming up on the exit. Later.”
I-10, New Orleans, Louisiana
TUESDAY, JULY 26, 2:15 P.M.
Molly looked over at Gabe, who was kind of cooperating. He wasn’t in the footwell, but he was leaned over the console, as much as his seat belt would allow.
This was it.
“Be ready,” was all she said.
Their exit into New Orleans was coming up, and traffic was moving a little too slowly to guarantee success. She had to time her move so that Xavier’s minivan and the stolen BMW SUV could exit, but the Jeep carrying Mr. Eckert the hit man could not.
And not endanger anyone else on the road.
Easy peasy.
Which she was going to keep telling herself until it was over.
A glance in front of her showed a bridge looming just beyond the exit.
The bridge was the reason that they’d chosen this specific exit.
A glance in her rearview showed no cops, at least none that were obvious.
She worried about the cops. She trusted Burke’s old friend from NOPD, Captain André Holmes, but he couldn’t be everywhere during this op.
She hoped the officers he’d chosen were as trustworthy as he was, because this was going to be close.
“Now,” she said, pushing Gabe’s shoulder down as she floored her accelerator, forcing her way in front of the Jeep as the minivan and the SUV
exited, then veered sharply onto the shoulder, braking so that she was even with the Jeep. She continued driving on the shoulder through the exit, keeping the Jeep from following.
The man in the Jeep stared at her, his jaw tight. Then his arm lifted and—
“Gun!” she shouted.
Gabe looked up from where he leaned over the console, her pistol in his hand. He’d handled it like a seasoned pro, deftly loading it and racking the slide. She wasn’t worried about his shooting skills.
She was worried that he’d have to shoot.
“Hold your fire,” she said quietly. “Too many people around us.”
“I know,” Gabe said. “But is he going to hold his fire?”
They’d passed the exit and the shoulder was ending, the bridge upcoming.
“Brace yourself!” Molly slammed on her brakes, stopping a few feet from where the bridge began. In the far-right lane, the Jeep was forced to continue or crash into the bridge’s railing.
“It’s done,” she said. “He’s headed over the bridge.”
Gabe quickly popped the magazine from her gun, stored the bullets in the glove box and the gun in the lockbox, which he then put back into the console.
He straightened in his seat, readjusting his seat belt. “Crisis averted. Nice driving.”
“A few more feet and we’d be soaking wet,” she muttered, looking at the river flowing below them, swollen and fast-moving due to a recent storm.
“Did the cops do their thing?”
She grabbed the binoculars she kept in the console, focusing on the end of the bridge. Then smiled as three unmarked police cars surrounded the Jeep, their flashers on. “See for yourself,” she said, handing him the binoculars.
“Well, something went right today,” he said after viewing what would hopefully be an arrest. “Is anyone going to stop us when we go over the bridge?”
“Burke said they wouldn’t, but if they do, don’t say a word. Both guns in the truck are registered to me and I have permits to carry, so we’ve broken no laws. Worst they can do is give me a citation for driving on the shoulder. If they ask to search, we ask for a warrant. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “So I’m going to say something and if it’s inappropriate, I’m claiming adrenaline rush.”
She chuckled, liking the feel of her hand in his. “Okay?”
“You were very hot, driving like that.”
She grinned, pleased. “I guess I was at that.”
It was his turn to laugh. “Glad to see your self-confidence is healthy.”
“Still’s nice to hear. Any other inappropriate-but-welcome compliments before I start over the bridge?”
He hesitated, then nodded, sober now. “When we’re safe in your office, I want to kiss you.”
She drew a breath, then let it out, considering her reply. Considering how he made her feel . . . enough. Better than enough.
He made her feel confident in a way that had nothing to do with her job.
And when he admired her curves when he thought she wasn’t looking? He made her feel desired.
The way she hadn’t felt in way too long. Not since the boyfriend she’d left behind in North Carolina. The boyfriend who’d looked at her with accusing eyes after she’d killed Jake. Yes, she wanted this, wanted Gabe to kiss her.
Wanted him to more than kiss her.
Beside her, he sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No,” she said quickly. “I want you to.” She smiled at him ruefully. “I really want you to.”
“But?”
“But you’re my client and it’s not professional.”
He tilted his head, studying her. “Would Burke fire you?”
“No.” The idea was ridiculous. “I’m pretty good at my job. It’s more that there are lines we’re not supposed to cross for a reason. If I kiss you, then . . .”
One russet brow lifted, his smile amused. “Then?”
“Then I’ll want more. I’m not good at casual.”
“I didn’t think you were. Neither am I. Next objection?”
Her cheeks felt like they were on fire, which seemed to amuse him even more. “I can’t focus on keeping you safe if I’m busy kissing you and . . .
y’know . . . other stuff.”
His lips twitched. “So when this case is over and you no longer have to keep me safe? Then you’ll kiss me back?”
After this was over, there was no way she’d deny herself. “When this is over, I will definitely kiss you back.”
He smiled. “Good. Then let’s get on with the case, Miss Sutton. The sooner we clear this up, the sooner we can do all that kissing and . . . y’know . . . other stuff.”
She smiled back, feeling settled. Feeling optimistic. “Yes, sir.” Looking behind her, she backed up on the shoulder, enough that she could get a running start before merging into the bridge traffic. She got over into the far-left lane as quickly as she could, able to take a long look at the crime scene in progress because traffic had already slowed due to rubberneckers.
“Eckert’s still in the Jeep,” Gabe remarked. “What if they don’t arrest him?”
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out when we get to the office. I’m debating reporting him for pulling a gun on us, but I’d prefer to keep my name out of this as best I can. I’ll tell Burke and let him decide.”
They passed over the bridge, Gabe turning to look behind them. “They’re pulling him out of his Jeep,” he reported. “And they’re holding his gun.”
“Good. One of the cops may have seen him pull it. I’d say our job here is done.” She crossed the highway, getting back into the far-right lane so that she could take the next exit. “Next stop, the office.”
“Where we’ll finally get some answers from Xavier,” Gabe added grimly.
I hope they’re answers that don’t break Gabe’s heart.
The Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana
TUESDAY, JULY 26, 2:20 P.M.
Xavier wished to high heaven that he’d switched places with Willa Mae and that he was driving now. Far from being a poky old-lady driver, the woman was channeling some secret Mario Andretti, weaving in and out of the traffic like a pro.
“Willa Mae!” his mother gasped. For the tenth time. In two minutes.
“What?” Willa Mae demanded. “I’m going exactly where that Burke fella told us to go. And if I can shake our tail in the process, all’s the better.”
“Don’t shake our tail, Miss Willa Mae,” Manny said from the back of the minivan. “Otherwise, the cops won’t be able to take him down. You know what Burke said.”
Burke had also confirmed that Xavier should stay down on the floor, so that his head wasn’t visible through the minivan’s windows. And, since Xavier liked his head attached to his shoulders, he’d obeyed.
But this made it so that he couldn’t see what was happening. He was having to rely on Carlos, who, in typical Carlos fashion, was making things a whole lot lighter than they probably were. Xavier figured that it was his BFF’s intention to make him laugh, so he’d obliged a time or two.
Because laughing was good in this situation. Laughing kept him from crying, and for that alone he’d be Carlos’s friend for the rest of their lives.
Which would—hopefully—stretch decades into the future.
This was serious. There were hit men after him. After all of us. Or at least one hit man. Who knew who the Lott imposter really was or why he was following them? He was probably at least a killer, seeing as how the real Paul Lott was dead.
Burke had sprung that little fact on them, intending to have them know how serious this was. Xavier thought his mother might faint, but she’d held strong. He knew his mom was amazing, but after this . . . well, he had a whole new appreciation for his mama’s spine of steel.
And Willa Mae had been a constant slew of surprises. When she’d heard that Lott was dead, Xavier figured she’d make them find their own way to New Orleans. It’s what I would have done. What most any smart person with an ounce of self-preservation would have done.
Not Willa Mae. She’d gripped the wheel tight and pursed her lips even tighter. Declared that she’d get them there safely. But she also took breaks from her take-no-prisoners persona every few minutes to quietly assure his mom that everything would be okay.
Except it wasn’t okay, and Xavier couldn’t see how it would be. Because the man who’d attacked them last night was dead. One of the nurses his mom knew at a different hospital confirmed that he’d died after surgery to repair damage from a gunshot wound.
That I did. I shot him. I killed him.
And I can’t think about that right now.
“What’s happening?” he asked Carlos, who was taking in the city with great interest. Xavier, not so much. He hadn’t been back to New Orleans since he was five years old. Just being here was giving him serious flashbacks. Rain, rising water, his birth mama’s hand shoving him onto the roof . . .
The time he’d sat there alone and crying. It had felt like years at the time but may have been less than an hour. Still, he remembered the terror.
And he remembered the lady in the window next door.
Which was why he was here all over again.
“We’re coming up to the corner Burke told us about,” Carlos said. “And traffic is crazy here. Where did all these people come from? It’s insane.”
“It’s the music festival,” Manny supplied. “Satchmo SummerFest. Good festival. Lotsa jazz. It’s like a citywide block party.”
Carlos twisted in his seat to stare at his brother. “When did you come to New Orleans?”
“Couple of times.”
“Without me?” Carlos sounded outraged.
“You just turned twenty-one last month. You weren’t old enough for the bars last year. You would’ve cramped my style.”
Carlos turned back to face forward. “I’ll cramp your something.”
“Hey,” Manny said cajolingly. “You’re gonna see so much more in New York than I’ve ever seen. And next summer, we can go to Satchmo together.”
From Xavier’s position, he could see Carlos’s lips curve, and was pleased to see the two brothers connecting like this. Manny had always been the older, cooler one, pretty much ignoring him and Carlos since forever. But he’d come through for them this time, for sure. One call from Carlos asking for help, and Manny had been all in.
“Okay, ladies and gents,” Willa Mae called out. “We are approaching the rendezvous. Xavier, you scootched over enough? Don’t want you to get stepped on, hon.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Xavier said, rolling a little closer to Carlos’s chair. He clutched his dad’s old pistol a little tighter. Showtime.
“Everyone buckled in?” Willa Mae asked and was answered by a chorus of yes, ma’am s.
“Xavier?” His mother’s voice was pitched low and urgent. “If anything goes wrong, you run. You hear me? Do not look back. You run. All of you boys. You run.”
Xavier swallowed hard. He was not going to run and leave his family unprotected. But he also didn’t want her to worry, so he said, “I hear you, Mama.”
“Us, too,” Carlos said. “We hear you, Mrs. M.”
Her sigh told him that she hadn’t been fooled. “I love you all. Carlos and Manny, you’re like my own sons. You all deserve a future.”
“And they’ll have it,” Willa Mae said firmly. “Stop borrowing trouble, Cicely. It ain’t helpin’.”
“Are the cops in place?” Xavier asked.
“Yep,” Carlos said. “At least I think so. A black car got in front of us right after Willa Mae cut in between the last two cars. A black car is beside us.
And . . . yeah, I see Burke Broussard on that street corner.” They’d found his photo on his PI company’s website. “Jesus, he’s a big guy. You should move over a little bit more, X. When he jumps in, one of his boots could squash you like a bug.”
Xavier rolled his eyes, ignoring the fear coiling in his gut. “I’m not getting squashed.”
“Whatever.” Carlos was quiet now. Very serious. “Five, four, three, two —” His speech stuttered to a stop when Willa Mae floored it, wheels squealing as the minivan lurched forward. The black car in front of them would have cleared a path, allowing her to accelerate so that the car beside them could slip in between them and the white BMW SUV. That was the plan. “Hold on, X!”
“Oh, wow,” Manny said, just as a police car siren started to wail.
“Flashers and sirens. They have the Beemer completely boxed in. Shit. ”
The last curse was due to the sharp right Willa Mae took. Two seconds later, she threw the minivan into park, the side door slid open, and Burke Broussard jumped in.
“Hi,” Xavier said from the floor when Burke had jerked the side door closed, not waiting for Willa Mae to hit the button. “I’m Xavier.”
Burke grinned down at him. “I’m Burke. Nice to meet you, Xavier.” He looked around the van. “Manny and Carlos. And Miss Cicely and Miss Willa Mae. Welcome to New Orleans, y’all. Take a left at the next stop sign, ma’am. Then you’ll see a man waving you through the gate into off-street parking.”
“Will do,” Willa Mae said. “And then you’ll tell us what the hell is going on here?”
“We’re going to wait for Molly Sutton and Gabe Hebert to join us,” Burke said. “But we have lunch waiting.”
Lunch waiting, Xavier thought with a mental snort. Like it was a fucking garden party. “Where are Molly and Gabe now?” he asked.
“Still on I-10, I imagine,” Burke said as Willa Mae made the next turn.
“There’s my tech guy, ma’am. His name is Antoine. Just pull in where he’s signaling to us.”
“Oh, dear,” Cicely said quietly. “He looks unhappy to see us.”
Burke shrugged very wide shoulders. “He gets cranky when he does all-nighters. He hasn’t slept yet. We’ve been exploring a few leads. All right, now,” he said when they made another turn. “We’re here and still alive. I think we’re doing pretty well.”
Xavier heard his mother’s anxious intake of breath. “Where exactly is here, Mr. Broussard?”
“My office, ma’am. I’m so sorry. I’m afraid everything’s been a little cloak-and-daggery up until now. We will share everything we know. I promise. And we have lunch.” He repeated this last bit about lunch a little too brightly, as if hoping that giving them food would keep them from
demanding answers. Xavier was about to say hell no to that when Manny spoke up.
“I can eat,” Manny said. “You’re not going to poison us, are you?”
Burke laughed. “No. I’ll even eat a bite of y’all’s food first, if it’ll make you feel better.”
“Not mine,” Carlos said. “I could eat a whole cow myself. I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving,” Manny complained. “What else is new?”
Burke looked amused. “We ordered lunch for fifteen people.”
“That oughta be about right,” Carlos agreed, totally serious. His BFF
could put away an astounding amount of food. “Thank you, sir.”
Xavier finally exhaled when the minivan stopped and Willa Mae cut the engine.
They were finally going to get some answers.
And, apparently, lunch.
The Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana
TUESDAY, JULY 26, 3:00 P.M.
Joy, Burke’s office manager, was waiting at the entry, tapping her fingers on the arm of her wheelchair when Gabe and Molly arrived. Her smile was professional, her demeanor polite but firm. “Burke’s waiting in the conference room. The Houston crowd is pushing for answers, but he told them he was waiting for you. So hurry on up before the Texans revolt.”
This is it, Gabe thought while following Molly into a conference room with a large table where Burke waited, looking none too patient. This is when I find out who Xavier was to my dad.
Gabe stopped short.
There he was. Xavier Morrow. A twenty-two-year-old Black man. The friend that my father never told me about. The friend that my father gave a lot of money to.
Xavier looked exhausted but appeared to be holding up okay. He was flanked on his left by his mother, who looked just like the photo he and
Just this morning? Time really does fly when you’re having fun. Or running from hit men. Whatever.
On Xavier’s right was a Latino man who looked to be about the same age.
Carlos, probably. On Carlos’s other side was a slightly older man who looked enough like Carlos that to assume they were brothers was a safe bet. He’d be Manny.
On Cicely Morrow’s left was a woman who appeared to be around sixty, also Black. This would be the minivan’s driver, Willa Mae. She had narrowed her eyes at Gabe the moment he’d walked in. Not in a mean way, but in an I-see-you-so-don’t-try-anything way.
Molly made a beeline for a nearby platter of sandwiches. She put together two plates and carried them to the table. “Gabe?”
He realized that he’d been standing there. Gaping like a fool. He joined them at the table, taking the seat directly across from Xavier. Drawing a breath, he reached his hand across the table. “Xavier. I’m Gabe Hebert. Rocky’s son.”
Xavier shook his hand, his grip firm. “I know. He told me all about you.
Showed me your pictures. You look just like him.”
Ignoring the plate that Molly slid in front of him, Gabe kept his gaze locked with Xavier’s. “I’m afraid to say that he didn’t tell me about you. I just learned that you exist this morning.”
“How?” Cicely Morrow asked sharply. “Rocky always swore that no one could connect us. If he didn’t tell you himself, how did you find us?”
“That would be because of me, ma’am,” Molly said. “I’m Molly Sutton. I talked to you on the phone today. I work for Burke, and Gabe came to us yesterday, concerned about the circumstances of his father’s death. I was checking into Rocky’s financials and found a check he’d written to you six years ago. After that, the same amount was deposited monthly into an account called John Alan Industries.”
Cicely sighed. “I worried about that check for a long time. I’d almost forgotten about it.”
Xavier was frowning. “What do you mean, the circumstances of Rocky’s death?”
Gabe swallowed. “He didn’t commit suicide.”
Xavier’s whole body sagged, his eyes growing shiny with tears. “I didn’t think he would. I didn’t think he could. That means he was . . .” His voice broke. “Murdered?”
“We think so,” Gabe replied, amazed that his voice was steady. Inside he was a shaking mess. “I need to know, Xavier. How are you connected to my father?”
Xavier blinked, sending a tear down each of his cheeks. “He saved my life. In Katrina. I was five.”
Carlos leaned forward, clearly interested. “And that’s all we know. So spill, man. I’m dying over here.”
Xavier sputtered what might have been a laugh. “Okay, hermano. Okay.”
He folded his hands on the table in front of him and looked Gabe straight in the eye. “My mother—my birth mother—died in the flood. I don’t remember my birth father.” He straightened his spine. “My last memory of my birth mother was when she pushed me through the hole she’d chopped in the attic roof. I was safe, but she wasn’t. I remember her hands, clutching at the air, trying to grab for the roof, to pull herself up. But she couldn’t. She drowned.”
Gabe’s throat closed, and beside him, Molly gasped softly. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“Very sorry,” Gabe echoed hoarsely. Relief that his father had not cheated on his mother was eclipsed with sorrow for the horror a five-year-old Xavier had experienced while witnessing his mother’s death. “You must have been so scared.”
Xavier nodded. “Yeah. I was. I sat there for a while. I thought it was hours, because I was five years old. Might have been an hour. Hard to say.
Other people were on their roofs, too. Help was coming, they told me. I just wanted my mother.”
This was all new information for everyone at the table, except for Cicely Morrow. She laid her hand over Xavier’s folded ones in silent support. The others—Carlos, Manny, Willa Mae, and even Burke—looked stricken. A glance from the corner of his eye revealed Molly wiping her eyes.
“Was my father the help that was coming?” Gabe asked.
“Yes. They came in rowboats and motorboats. Your dad was in one of the motorboats. I could see them coming down the street, which was flooded over the one-story houses by this point. Our house was one story, but it had a steep roof. That’s where I was. And that’s when I saw the white lady in the house next door. It was two stories, and she was in the upstairs bedroom. She was packing a suitcase.”
Gabe held his breath, waiting, afraid of what he believed was coming.
“And then?” Burke prompted softly.
Xavier swallowed again. “And then a man came into the room. He was white, too. He had dark hair and a scar on his face.” He traced a finger from his eye down the center of his cheek. “They were fighting, and he hit her.
And hit her again. Then he put his hands around her throat . . .” His breathing quickened, and Gabe’s quickened right along with him. “He ran then and left her there. Lying on the bed. Not moving. I was . . . little. And scared. Too scared to say anything or do anything to stop it.”
“You were little more than a baby,” Gabe said, hoping it was the right thing. “You were traumatized. Your mother had just died, and you were clinging to life on a roof. No one would have ever expected you to do anything.”
Cicely’s smile was shaky. “Except to tell Rocky Hebert,” she said, her pride obvious.
Gabe exhaled, understanding dawning. “You told my father what you’d seen.”
“Yes, sir. He didn’t believe me at first. He tried to calm me down. Told me that everything would be okay, but it wasn’t. I knew what I’d seen.” More tears leaked from Xavier’s dark eyes, and he wiped at them angrily. “He asked me about my mother, but she was under the water. I told him that.
Then I told him that the lady next door was on the bed. She had a dog, a big, fancy dog with long hair and long ears. I’d see her walking it. The dog’s name was Fluffy. I didn’t know the lady’s name. I just called her Miss Fluffy, and she’d always laugh.”
“And then you saw her die, too,” Gabe whispered. “Oh, Xavier. I’m so sorry.”
Xavier waved the air, like none of it mattered. But it did. This poor young man had suffered so much that night. That he’d gone on to become such a good person, volunteering and graduating salutatorian? And he was going on to med school?
“But my father must have believed you at some point,” Gabe guessed.
“He did. The neighbors told him that my mother had saved me then died, but they hadn’t seen the lady next door.” He shrugged. “Her window was next to where I was sitting on the roof. No one else had the right angle to see in. Anyway, your father finally went over to check, because I wouldn’t be quiet about it. He broke the window and climbed in. The flood was almost up to the second-story windows by this point. When he got back in the boat, he looked sad. Told me that he’d send a doctor to take care of the lady. That he was getting me to some place that was warm and dry.”
Gabe frowned, confused. “But then what happened?”
“I didn’t know, not for a long time. I never saw him again, not until I was sixteen. I was taken by social services that night. I didn’t have any relatives to call. Me and my birth mom were all alone. She was an accountant.” His smile was small and sad. “She liked numbers. She let me play with her calculator sometimes. I don’t remember that much about her. Just her hands tapping calculator keys. And reaching out of the water that last day.”
Carlos covered his mouth, choking on a sob. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Xavier turned to him. “I didn’t want to remember it. Took me years before I even told Mom and Dad.”
“We were foster parents,” Cicely said, taking up the tale. “So many of the kids were taken from New Orleans to Houston, and we ended up blessed with Xavier, although he didn’t go by that name then.”
“My mother named me Angel,” Xavier said. “That’s the name I told your dad that night.”
That checked out. The name on Xavier’s birth certificate had been Angel Xavier Morrow.
“Which made it hard for him to find Xavier later.” Cicely shook her head.
“But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. We fostered Xavier, then adopted him.
Got him an amended birth certificate, which is standard practice for adoptions. His original birth certificate has been sealed. We know his mother’s name was Monique Johnson because her body was later recovered, but Xavier didn’t remember much then. He was . . . troubled. Nightmares and such. Terrible nightmares.”
Gabe shuddered. He couldn’t even imagine.
“I guess so,” Molly murmured. “Did you tell anyone else about the woman you’d seen, Xavier?”
“He tried to,” Cicely answered. “He told us—me and my husband. He told his therapist, but she believed it was trauma from seeing his mother die.
When they’d recovered his mother’s body, we paid to have her cremated. Her ashes are in my husband’s study, but we paid for a marker in the cemetery so that Xavier could lay flowers on her grave.”
“Where is your husband?” Molly asked, even though she already knew.
Gabe figured that she was checking out Cicely Morrow’s story.
“My husband is deceased.”
Which was also consistent with what they’d found that morning.
“So you went to school and started over with a new family until my father reconnected with you years later?” Gabe asked.
“Basically, yes. It wasn’t quite that smooth.” Xavier aimed an apologetic look at his mother. “I was not the easiest kid.”
“You were our kid,” Cicely said fervently. “And we loved you from the day we met you. Your daddy was so proud of you.”
Xavier’s throat worked and he opened his mouth, but no words came out.
“He was a little turd sometimes, though,” Carlos chimed in. “Started fights in school. That’s how we met.”
Xavier wiped his eyes and pretended to glare. “I didn’t pick that fight. You did.”
Carlos grinned. “Yeah, you’re right. That was me. I picked the fight and you ended it with one punch. We were in the first grade. I had to go to the nurse for a nosebleed, and Xavier was in the office getting detention, but we both had to see the principal, because zero tolerance and all that shit. By the time we made it through the first detention, we were best friends.”
“Pendejo,” Xavier muttered, but with unmistakable affection. “You’re stupid.”
“Made you laugh,” Carlos replied, unruffled.
“Yeah, you did. You always do. Thank you.” They bumped shoulders in the way of old friends, and Xavier returned his attention to Gabe. “I thought that I’d imagined seeing the lady murdered after a while. Everyone told me that I’d imagined it, so I started to believe it. Until your father showed up.
Knocked on the front door of our house and when I opened it, I recognized him immediately.”
“Xavier fell to his knees,” Cicely said, remembering. “He just . . . fell down. He kept saying, ‘That’s the man. That’s the man.’ He was sixteen years old, but in that moment, it was like he was five years old and traumatized all over again. But he did calm down, and we went outside to talk to your father. I’d asked Rocky to wait outside while I calmed Xavier down and he was patient with us. I was a recent widow and nervous about inviting a man into my house, and he said he understood. Besides, back then we were the only house on the street. We had one neighbor in the back, but the houses that are next to us now were just being built, so we had privacy on the porch. Rocky started talking and then the story just came out.”
Xavier took up the tale. “He said he’d been looking for me. Johnson was a common enough name, but there were no Angels. Because I’d told him that was my name. Xavier is my middle name and I asked to be called that.” He looked embarrassed. “Because of X-Men. I was only six.”
“Hey, I’m good with that reason,” Molly said with a smile. “But it would have made it hard for Rocky to track you down. How did he find you?”
“Through the check we wrote to pay for Xavier’s mother’s cremation,”
Cicely answered. “It took him a long time to find us, though. He confirmed that there had been a dead woman in the house across from Xavier’s that night. He’d seen her with his own eyes. He saw the ligature marks around her neck. But when he went back after the floodwaters started to go down, she was gone.”
Gabe blinked. “What do you mean ‘gone’? She was dead, right?”
“No,” Xavier said. “Her body was gone. Rocky told us that the floodwaters had never reached the bed and it was still in good shape. The room was waterlogged because he broke a window to get in, but he said there was no sign of the body. He reported it and tried to work the case but was told to stop.”
“Told by whom?” Burke asked, frowning.
“By his supervisors,” Xavier said. “He said that every time he brought it up, his bosses would give him other cases. They said he wasn’t Homicide at first, back when he discovered the body. Later, when he was in Homicide, he was told that other Homicide detectives were working it. But he checked around, and they weren’t.”
Gabe turned to Burke. “You were his partner. Did you know about this?”
Burke shook his head. “I knew he had a case that he couldn’t let go, but he’d never tell me about it. We all had that one case we couldn’t let go, so I didn’t pester him. I should have.”
“It wouldn’t have helped,” Xavier said sadly. “He wasn’t going to tell anyone, because it was too dangerous. That’s what he said.”
Cicely patted her son’s hand. “He also had been threatened by his boss.”
“Who?” Burke demanded. “When and how?”
“We don’t know names. Rocky wouldn’t tell us. But he said he’d brought it up again the year before he found us.” Cicely darted a nervous glance at Gabe. “It was the tenth anniversary of Katrina, and he thought someone would care. He was ready to go to the press. He hadn’t told anyone at the beginning that he had an eyewitness because he couldn’t find Xavier to corroborate, but Rocky had seen the body. He knew she was dead. By the tenth anniversary he was so eager to solve the case that he told them he did have an eyewitness who could identify the killer through his scar. But then his boss told him that if he continued ‘blathering’ about this case, he’d lose his job, and wouldn’t that be bad for his wife, not to have health insurance?
So he quit asking. Publicly, anyway.”
Gabe felt the color drain from his face. A warm hand grabbed his. Molly.
“Sonofabitch,” Burke cursed.
“You okay?” Molly asked very softly.
Gabe jerked a nod and did the math. “My mother was diagnosed with cancer a year before the tenth anniversary of Katrina. She was still undergoing chemo a year later. If she’d lost her insurance, she would have died then.”
Carlos was shaking his head. “That’s wrong.”
“So wrong,” Manny agreed in his gravelly voice.
“That poor man,” Willa Mae said sadly. “Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place.”
Burke stood up and began pacing the room. “I wish he’d told me. Why didn’t he tell me?”
“It wasn’t because he didn’t trust you,” Cicely said. “He thought about bringing you in once you were partners, but he didn’t want to drag you down with him. He figured that the cover-up went pretty high up. He told me that it was a hard decision, but he liked you. He was protecting you.”
Burke sighed. “That’s sounds like him. Stubborn man.”
That was fair, Gabe thought. His father had been the most stubborn man he’d ever known.
Cicely made a noise of agreement. “He really was. By this point, though, he knew that the rot had burrowed deep. He didn’t know who he could trust.
When his boss blocked his investigation on the tenth anniversary of the flood, the man also demanded to know the eyewitness’s name. Rocky was terrified that they’d come after Xavier, seeing as how they were threatening his wife.
He gave his boss a fake name.”
Gabe stared. “A fake name? You mean he lied?”
“He did,” Cicely confirmed. “He gave them the name of another child who’d died in Katrina. He figured his boss must have been satisfied, because he stopped pressuring Rocky for Xavier’s name. That’s when Rocky started searching harder for Xavier, so that he could warn him. He was worried that they’d silence him, too. He believed someone in his chain of command was covering this up and at that point he didn’t trust them not to try to hurt Xavier.”
“Rocky was like my second dad,” Xavier almost whispered. “But you were his son, Gabe. Not me. Never me. So don’t you worry about that.”
Gabe managed a smile. “My father was a good man. I’m glad he found you, and that you were all right.”
“Well.” Xavier waggled his hand. “We weren’t so good when he found us. My father had died the year before, and times were rough.”
“I was working two jobs to keep the house,” Cicely admitted. “My late husband didn’t know how to manage money, and I wasn’t aware that he didn’t know. Our financial situation after he died of a heart attack was a huge shock. There was barely enough to bury him. I ended up finishing my nurse’s degree and getting a good job, but there was a lot of debt. We were close to losing our house. Your dad helped us. I didn’t want to take it. Didn’t want to take food out of your mouths, but he promised me that his wife knew and that she wanted to help us.”
“Did you ever meet my mom?” Gabe asked.
Cicely smiled warmly. “We did. Just the once. She was able to travel for a short period of time and your dad drove her to Houston. They spent the night in a swanky hotel, then had breakfast with us the next morning at our house.”
Gabe’s heart pounded harder. “I remember that. Mom said they were having a second honeymoon while she still could. But I didn’t know they were going to see you. I wondered then why they picked Houston for a trip.”
“We were why.” Xavier met Gabe’s gaze. “We didn’t want his charity, so he said we could call it a loan. We paid him back, every cent we borrowed—
with interest. It took us a few years, though. Your mother had passed by then.
Mom and I both put what we earned against the debt and by the time I was in college, we’d paid in full.”
Cicely’s chin lifted slightly. “We have receipts.”
“I believe you,” Gabe said simply. And he did.
“I told him to stop after we’d paid him back,” Cicely said, ruefully shaking her head. “I was making decent money as a nurse by then. But he kept depositing that money into the John Alan account every month. Said it was a loan for Xavier’s college. He said that he’d helped send you to culinary school, Gabe, and that he was helping Xavier, too. That Xavier could pay him back when he was a rich doctor.” Her lips curved in a sad smile. “But now he won’t see that.”
“I had a scholarship and I worked to pay for school,” Xavier said. “I was saving the loan money for medical school.”
“As you should,” Gabe said quietly. “And someday, when you are a rich doctor? Donate something in his name, if you don’t mind. Money or time. He would have liked that.”
Xavier swallowed. “I will. I like that, too.”
“So do I.” Cicely exhaled. “That conversation was easier than I thought it would be.”
Gabe cleared his throat. “Then I guess we tackle the harder one. Once Dad found you, what did he do next? What happened six weeks ago that got him killed?”
No one answered. Because no one knew.
“We’ll find out,” Molly assured him, and he believed her, too. “Xavier, will you tell us about last night? You said that you called Paul Lott to get Gabe’s number because someone tried to kill you.”
Xavier shifted in his chair. He opened his mouth, but his mother tapped his hand.
She focused in on Burke. “Are you recording this?” she demanded.
What the hell? Gabe thought. What happened last night?
Burke was blinking. “No. We’re not recording any of this. Why?”
Xavier suddenly looked miserable. “Because I killed someone.”
