Lamont stood before the mirror in his office, straightened his tie, and decided that he looked fine. He looked normal. Dressed in one of the spare suits he always kept in his office, he looked like the dignified public servant that he wanted the world to see.
He surveyed the small washroom, wishing he had a black light so that he could be sure that he’d cleaned up all the blood. Using the cleaver, he’d taken care of Ashley’s body in the shower stall, so none of her blood should be anywhere on the washroom walls or floor.
He’d scrubbed the shower stall top to bottom, but he’d known of enough cases where the killer got careless or cocky and missed a drop of blood somewhere. Those guys were currently serving life terms.
Not me.He’d cleaned everything with bleach, including the very expensive knife set he’d purchased from a kitchen shop in the Quarter—with cash, of course. A gift, he’d told the cashier.
A very nice gift, she’d replied with a smile.
He’d get another set, just in case someone came looking. Another set that didn’t have Ashley’s blood all over it. Again, he’d known of too many killers who’d thought that they’d cleaned all the blood off their weapons.
They were serving life sentences, too.
Not me.He’d triple-bagged everything, including the clothing he’d been wearing when he’d killed her. The clothing he’d burn. Everything else was going into the bayou.
He inspected the two boxes into which he’d packed the triple-bagged remains of his former assistant. They looked professionally wrapped, the silver foil paper gleaming in the overhead fluorescent lights. The bows were a nice touch, if he did say so himself.
Presents for Joelle, he’d tell James, if his driver asked.
He loaded the boxes on the dolly that he’d grabbed from the mail room on his way back from his little shopping trip that evening. Carting them out of his office and down the elevator to the lobby was easy as pie. He met no one along the way and that was just fine with him.
James got out of the car when he approached. “Good evening, sir. You’re working mighty late tonight.”
“I have a big case next week. Can you give me a hand with the boxes?”
Because he never would have put them into the car himself. See? Normal.
“Certainly, sir. They’re very pretty.”
“Something for Joelle.”
“I’m sure she’ll be happy to get whatever it is,” James said, hoisting the boxes into the more-than-ample trunk of the town car. Luckily Ashley hadn’t weighed all that much. Then James opened the back passenger door. “Sir?”
Lamont slid into the back seat and let himself relax. Almost there.
James got behind the wheel. “Home?”
“Yes, please. It’s been a very long day.”
He’d have James place the boxes in the garage when they got home. Joelle would probably be in bed already, so she’d never know they were there. James would be too discreet to mention them to her, even if he had any opportunity to do so. Which he probably would not.
James was not a fan of Joelle. Join the club, buddy.
Lamont checked his phone, hoping for a text from Jackass saying that Margaret Sutton’s family was in their hands. Nothing so far, and he wondered what the man was waiting for. How hard could it be to kidnap a woman and her child?
He thumbed out a text. Anything?
The reply came a few minutes later. Waiting for the lights to go out. Easier that way. We have time. The lady PI checked out the house in SC. It went boom. She’s in the hospital tonite. Should be released tmw. She’ll take us seriously now. She’ll be cooperative when she learns we have the sister.
Lamont exhaled a sigh of relief. Finally something was going right. Just let me know.
A thumbs-up emoji buzzed, and he pocketed his phone, leaned back, and closed his eyes. He was exhausted, and he still had a long night ahead of him. He’d grab a quick nap as James navigated the still-crowded streets. Then, off to the bayou.
Lake Salvatore, Louisiana
THURSDAY, JULY 28, 12:30 A.M.
André docked his boat behind a little cabin. Antoine scrambled up to the small platform and grabbed the rope that André tossed him, securing the vessel.
“Where are we?” Gabe asked, looking around but seeing nothing but a single light in one of the cabin’s windows. It was pitch-dark out, cloudy without a star in the sky. Perfect for stealth. Not so perfect for getting a feel for the place.
“My fiancée’s family’s cabin on Lake Salvatore,” André said. “The Romeros have owned this land for two generations. It’s nice and quiet and we can see people coming down from the road half a mile away. Her folks are very generous about letting Farrah and me use it as a getaway whenever we get a chance.”
Molly shouldered her bag, still gripping her gun, just as she had the entire way back from Burke’s cabin. She’d been tense and quiet and very, very watchful. “Tell them thank you. And give Farrah my best.”
André jumped to the dock and extended his hand to her. “You can tell her yourself. She’s waiting inside.”
Molly was smiling when Gabe stepped onto the dock. “I’m so glad,” she said. “I haven’t seen Farrah in way too long.”
Gabe snapped his fingers for Shoe and the dog leapt from the boat like he’d been doing it for years. He might have, actually. Burke had told him that his father would bring Shoe to his cabin from time to time. They’d fish and the dog would sniff around, smart enough to stay away from the water’s edge.
Way too many gators in that water. Gabe didn’t even want to think about it.
He attached a leash to Shoe’s collar and followed the others up a small hill to the cabin. The back door opened, and a woman came out to meet them, looking worried until she saw André.
“Took y’all long enough,” she called.
André just grinned and gave her a rather boisterous kiss when he got to the door. “You missed me.”
“Always,” she said, tugging at the hem of her blouse when he let her go. And maybe panting a little. Gabe couldn’t blame her. The kiss was hot and made him want to do the same to Molly.
Made him want to do far more than kiss her.
When it’s safe. Whenwe’re safe.
“Who do we have here?” Farrah continued with a smile. “Molly Sutton, I have missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” Molly said and hugged the woman like they were old friends. “I love your blouse. This color is… so you.”
It was bright yellow, like a Post-it Note. Nearly neon. And Molly was right. It did look amazing on her. He stepped forward, holding out his free hand. “I’m Gabe Hebert, and this is Shoe.”
Shoe wagged his tail and Farrah bent to give him a head scratch before shining her smile on Gabe. “Oh, I know who you are. I have been known to dine in your restaurant simply for that sinful chocolate cake.”
“On the house forever,” Gabe said, charmed.
“He’s supposed to be teaching me to bake it,” Molly said.
“No,” Gabe corrected. “That was your ploy to distract my cousin Patty. My mama would haunt my ass if I just gave out her recipe to everyone.”
Molly just raised her brows. “We’ll see.”
“Do you even bake, Molly?” Farrah asked.
Molly laughed. “Well, no, but I like a challenge and hate a secret.” She looked around and sighed contentedly. “I didn’t know you had a place out here. This is nice. Wish it was daylight so I could see it better.”
“When all this is over, you’ll have to come back out. You, too, Gabe. My dad’s got a barbecue pit and he’ll roast a brisket for two days. It’s not Choux quality, but it’s damn good.”
“Ma’am, two-day brisket is heaven’s fare,” Gabe declared, and he meant it. “There’s little better than a properly barbecued brisket.”
“Truth,” Antoine declared, then hugged Farrah tightly. “I’m going home. I have scans to run and the internet here is not so good.”
“It’s late,” Gabe said, remembering his manners. “We’ve kept y’all far too long. How do we get back to our rental car?”
“You don’t,” André said. “It’s best to keep the bad guys guessing. Farrah drove our extra vehicle out here tonight so that you could borrow it.”
“Oh!” Molly looked like she might cry a little. “That was so nice of you.”
“Think nothing of it.” Farrah motioned for them to follow her as she started walking around to the detached garage. “We hardly ever use it, and it needs to be driven. It belonged to my best friend. She left it behind when she moved to California to live with her fiancé. She’d be happy that you were using it to keep safe.”
“And you don’t need to worry about pampering it,” André added. “If you need to grind some gears to make a getaway, do it. The engine will do you right. We just had it tuned up. And if you have to ditch it somewhere, that’s all right, too. It’s just a car.”
Gabe was overwhelmed with gratitude and slightly ashamed that he’d mistrusted André at the beginning. Which was only like, what? Two and a half days ago? Hell. “Thank you. Truly.”
“We all loved your dad,” André said simply. “It’s our way of honoring him.” He gave Molly the keys. “Be safe and you have my number. Call if you need anything at all.”
Molly hugged him hard. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” She stepped back, looking concerned. “Are we putting you in a bad position?”
“No,” André assured her. “Someone in the department is involved in a murder. Several murders. We need to find him—or them—and dig them out. Keeping you safe is my job and a way to clean up my own house.”
They took leave of the couple, who stood hand in hand, watching as they drove away.
“That was nice,” Molly murmured. “I really love those two. Farrah’s some sort of genius, but you’d never know it. She’s just plain people.”
“You’re no slouch,” Gabe said, feeling an inexplicable need to defend her.
She grinned. “You sweet-talker, you. Hey, I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to cook at Burke’s place tonight. I know you were hoping to let off some steam.”
He felt his lips curving into an answering smile. “I can think of other ways to let off steam.”
“My bed at home is really soft.”
He studied her profile. It was too dark to see if she was blushing, but she was biting her bottom lip and he’d noticed that the two often happened together. “I don’t care if it’s a slab of rock. If I get to sleep with you, it’ll be perfect.”
“It’s no slab of rock, and thank you. My sister will want to meet you. She’ll likely squeal and ask for chocolate cake or maybe your profiteroles. They’re real favorites in our house.”
“I’ll make either for her, or even both. And your niece? Harper? Will she be okay if I’m there? I mean, do men scare her?”
Molly’s expression softened. “It’s thoughtful of you to ask. For a long time, she was afraid of men, but she’s coming around. I know she likes Lucien, the guy who’s been standing watch over them at night. She knows him from get-togethers with all of us from Burke’s. He does some amateur magic and she’s a fan. She’s always trying to figure out how he does the tricks. She’s very analytical.”
“She gets that from her aunt.”
Another smile was his reward. “And you? I know you’re an only child. Is Patty your only family?”
“Kind of. Patty’s other side of the family is bustin’ with cousins, and they call me one of their own. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that I make them the famous chocolate cake for birthdays and such.”
“That cake is better than gold as currency,” she declared. Then frowned. “Your aunt and uncle—Patty’s folks—are in Florida, right?”
“That’s what Patty said. They went to visit her granny on her mother’s side. Why?”
“How much did Patty tell them?”
“Most of what I told her. She told me that they’d wanted her to come, too, but Val convinced them that Patty would be safe with her around. They must have believed Val, because they took off.”
“Val is very convincing.”
“Val is very intimidating,” Gabe corrected.
Molly’s lips twitched. “She’s Val-Killer-Rie.”
“She’s what?”
“Val-Killer-Rie—a takeoff on Valkyrie. It’s her roller derby name. She’s part of the New Orleans QuarterMasters.”
Gabe stared for a moment, then laughed so loudly that it startled Shoe in the back seat. “Get outta town. Really?”
“Really. When Harper saw her skate? Well, let me tell you. After seeing Val on the track, she now wants to do roller derby when she grows up. Chelsea was beside herself, but I told her to chill. Harper’s only eight. She’ll change her mind a million times before she’s grown.”
“I didn’t,” Gabe said. “I always wanted to be a chef.”
“I’m glad. Your dream is delicious.”
Something wistful in her tone had him regarding her thoughtfully. “What’s your dream, Miss Molly?” he asked, making his tone teasing enough that she didn’t feel too obligated to share if she didn’t want to.
“I wanted to be a farmer, like my dad.”
That was not what he’d been expecting. “Really? Why didn’t you?”
She shrugged. “My mom wanted me to go to college because she and Dad never were able to. To do that, I needed money from Uncle Sam, so I did my time in the Corps. By the time I got back, Chelsea had met Jake and they’d moved into the farmhouse.”
“They didn’t get their own place?”
“Nope. Jake said he wanted to save money so that they could buy a place, but he was always gambling it away. Then, by the time I graduated from college, Harper was born, and the house was a little too full. I needed to find a place for myself and law enforcement was the route Burke had taken, so I…”
“So, you kind of fell into it.”
“More or less. My first assignment was in Charlotte, which meant I was far enough away that I wasn’t tripping over Chelsea’s new family but close enough that I could be part of Harper’s life.”
He read between the lines. “You didn’t like Jake.”
“No, I never did. I liked his best friend. Thought I could grow to love his best friend, in fact, but I never could stand my brother-in-law.”
“The best friend who you dated after your old boss’s son.” And he hated that she’d had those relationships. Which wasn’t fair. He’d dated people in the past. But this feels different somehow. It felt like… more.
“The best friend who I’d briefly considered marrying one day.”
He frowned, his thoughts veering from his own jealousy to how abruptly her life had changed. “You lost a lot that night. Your dad, your job”—because she’d killed the fucking brother-in-law—“and your boyfriend.”
“And my home. The farm had been in my family for almost a hundred years. But we were the last of our line and we couldn’t stay. Even if Harper hadn’t been traumatized and molested, we couldn’t stay. Dad was murdered there.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “It happened. Can’t change it. And I wouldn’t change anything I did. Except for maybe getting to the farmhouse earlier. It wouldn’t have changed Harper’s reality, though. The damage Jake did to her had already been done.” She drew a breath and gave herself a little shake. “The break’s been good for us. I like working for Burke, and I’m good at it. And I can grow some flowers and veggies in pots on the balcony. So, it’s fine.”
He almost offered her part of his backyard for a garden but bit it back in time. Too soon. He’d see how it went between them. If it became permanent when all this was over, he had a plot of land he’d been planning to till. Until then… “How about a community garden?”
She glanced over, startled. “I never considered that.”
“There are several in the area. And one of my suppliers runs his own organic farm north of Lake Pontchartrain. They probably couldn’t pay you, but if you get a yen to get your hands dirty, they most likely wouldn’t say no to some volunteer work.”
The smile she gave him seemed to brighten the dark interior of their borrowed car. “When this is over, I’ll get their names. Thank you, Gabe. I mean it. Thank you.”
He reached over to stroke a finger down her cheek. “You’re very welcome.”
They quieted then, Molly becoming more on edge as they approached the city. She was alert, vigilant, her gaze always searching, one hand white-knuckled as she gripped the steering wheel. The other held her handgun in her lap.
Just in case.
Gabe remained silent, not wanting to distract her. He found himself searching as well. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but if there was a strange movement maybe he could warn her before it was too late. And he did have her extra gun. He removed it from its lockbox and followed her lead, holding it on his lap, his hand clutching the grip.
Just in case.
The pace of the city had wound down a little as they exited the highway and passed the Superdome. It was the time of night that he was usually just finishing up at the Choux. Which he hadn’t thought of in… he couldn’t remember.
Thank the good Lord for Donna Lee. She was keeping their business running so that he and Patty could stay safe. Speaking of Patty, it was time to text her, just as he’d been doing every hour as he’d promised. He took his phone from his pocket and typed: You okay? I’m good. He waited for a reply, but none came.
Odd, because Patty kept the same hours that he did. She shouldn’t be asleep yet.
Maybe she’s busy watching a movie. Or cooking something. Lucky her.He’d really missed cooking things the past few days. He typed another message. Hello? Patty?
He looked up from his phone when Molly’s started to buzz. “It’s Burke,” he said after checking the screen. “Want me to answer it?”
She grew visibly tenser. “Please. Speaker, if you would.”
“Molly, you need to get home,” Burke said without saying hello.
Gabe felt sick. There was fear in Burke’s voice.
Molly stepped on the gas. “What’s happening?”
“Lucien called. They’re under attack. Four men. Luc’s hurt. Hurry.”
Molly floored it, passing the other cars like they were standing still. “I’m a minute out.”
“Don’t hang up,” Burke ordered. “Gabe? You armed?”
Gabe swallowed. “I am.”
“Good. Try to take them alive.”
Molly gripped the wheel even harder, twisting her fist like she was riding a motorcycle. “Making no promises,” she gritted out.
“I’ve called the cops, so you’ll have backup soon. André’s on his way.”
“Got it.” A minute later, she took a right-hand turn at full speed into a darkened garage. Shoving her phone into her pocket, she dug something from her other pocket and screwed it onto the barrel of her gun—a silencer, he realized. “I don’t want Harper to hear if I have to shoot,” she said, then leapt from the car, gun in her hand.
To Gabe’s horror, Shoe jumped from the back seat to the front and disappeared out of the door behind her.
Central Business District, New Orleans, Louisiana
THURSDAY, JULY 28, 1:20 A.M.
Gabe got out of their borrowed car, his gaze darting around the garage of Molly’s apartment building while his eyes got used to the darkness. Molly had run to a door that led to a flight of stairs, but as soon as she flung it open, she began backing up.
One of the intruders was forcing her backward, his gun pointed at her chest. Oh God. Oh no. No, no, no.
“Drop the gun,” the man commanded. “Do it now, or your sister and the kid die tonight.”
Molly’s back was rigid, but Gabe couldn’t see her face. He could, however, see her hand and watched, horrified, as she dropped her gun to the floor. Maybe she has a backup gun.
You have her backup gun. Do something!
The man shoved the barrel of his gun harder, and Gabe heard Molly’s grunt of pain.
She was still wearing the Kevlar vest. As am I.
But at that range, she’d still be hurt if the man fired. Still, the thought of the Kevlar quieted his mind, and he crept quietly around the other cars so that he could get a better view of the intruder, all while wondering where Shoe was. Just stay down, boy. Please.
“We didn’t expect you here,” the man said. “We thought we’d only get your sister and the kid.” His teeth flashed in the darkness as he grinned. “Bonus. Hey!” he yelled over his shoulder. “Got the—”
I don’t think so. Gabe lifted the gun and fired, aiming for the man’s shoulder. The noise echoed in the garage, and Gabe pressed his free hand to his ear. That hurt.
The man seemed to be hurt worse, though, slapping his hand to his neck as his knees folded, sending him to the floor.
Oops.Gabe had missed. But he couldn’t care. The man was down. He might even die from such a wound.
Gabe found that he didn’t care about that, either. This man had invaded Molly’s home. Held her at gunpoint.
Not even hesitating, Molly scooped up her gun, grabbed the intruder’s, and disappeared again into the stairwell. Gabe ran to catch up, relieved when Shoe popped up from behind one of the cars to follow them.
They passed another body as they climbed the stairs, a bullet hole between his eyes.
Please don’t let that be Lucien, Gabe thought. Please.
Molly looked over her shoulder. “Shhh,” she whispered without stopping, because there were sounds of an altercation coming from farther up.
He and Molly came to a landing and started up a second flight. When they rounded the stairs to the next landing, they found two men fighting hand to hand. The floor was covered in blood, the plaster on the walls chipped and broken with small holes everywhere.
Gun battle, Gabe thought grimly.
Molly ran soundlessly to the two men, grabbed the one on top by the collar and yanked him hard, sending him flying to his back. The man’s clothes were soaked with blood. She went to grab him, but a flash of metallic black in the man’s hand had her stepping back.
The bastard was pointing his gun at Molly’s head, his finger on the trigger.
Before Gabe could make a sound of warning, Molly raised her gun at the man she’d thrown and shot him in the head.
Gabe ran to her side in time to see her murmur to the man who was still alive.
The injured man shook his head at whatever she said. He lifted one finger, then pointed at the apartment door. “One more. He has Chelsea. Hurry.”
Molly ran to her apartment. Gabe started to kneel next to the man, who he assumed was Lucien, only to be waved away.
“I’ll live. Help her.”
Gabe obeyed, following Molly into the apartment, where he stopped, stock-still. A fourth man had his gun pointed at a woman who stood at an interior door, a gun in her shaking hands, her face a mask of desperate fear mixed with determination. Molly’s sister. Gabe remembered her from Molly’s birthday dinner Sunday night, but even if he hadn’t, the resemblance was clear. The door Chelsea guarded must lead to Harper’s room. Fury boiled up from Gabe’s gut and it was all he could do not to charge forward.
“Put the gun down, Chelsea,” the man said smoothly, then called over his shoulder. “Mason! Get your ass in here. How many bullets does it take to put that damn dog down?”
Gabe froze. Dog? Shoe? Shoe’s dead? No, he realized, nearly collapsing with relief when Shoe brushed up against him. The man didn’t know about Shoe. The first guy hadn’t seen the dog, hadn’t mentioned him. Didn’t mention me, either.
He must have meant Lucien.
“No,” Chelsea said. “You won’t touch my daughter. I will kill you.”
The fourth intruder took another step forward. “We won’t hurt you. Not if you cooperate.”
Chelsea was deathly pale, her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe. She looked like she’d start hyperventilating any moment.
Molly had been standing frozen, watching. Calculating, Gabe realized. She crept forward, one finger pressed to her lips to silence Chelsea as she approached the man, her gun pointed up at an angle.
An angle that would bring it flush with the man’s head when she got close enough.
Chelsea stiffened when she saw her sister, but rallied so quickly that the man didn’t notice. “No, you aren’t going to hurt me,” she said. “I will kill you if you take a single step closer.”
The man chuckled. “No, you won’t. You can’t.” To prove it he took another step, then another. “See, Chelsea? You won’t kill me.”
Molly shoved her gun against the base of his skull. “No, but I will. Drop your fucking gun.”
The man’s body went rigid, but he didn’t drop his gun. “You won’t kill me, either.”
“I’ve killed before to protect my family. I will do it again. In fact, all three of your men are dead. Drop the fucking gun.”
An ominous growl rumbled beside him and, before Gabe could grab him, Shoe darted into the room, teeth bared, going straight for the man and sinking his teeth into the bastard’s leg.
The man screamed, contorting his body and kicking his leg to try to escape the dog’s bite, but Shoe held on. Molly grabbed the wrist of his gun arm and twisted it, making him scream again. The gun fell from his hand to the hardwood floor and Molly brought his arm up behind his back, shoving him to his knees. Shoe followed the motion, going down on his belly, teeth still firmly planted in the man’s calf.
Good boy, Gabe thought. Such a good boy.
“Other hand where I can see it,” Molly commanded, the gun in her hand never wavering, still pressed to the man’s head. “Gabe? He’s got tactical restraints in his back pocket. Can you retrieve them?”
“Yes.” He tried to move, only to find his legs had become like rubber. Fall apart later. Move it now. He took a step, then another until he was walking normally. He was a foot away, about to reach for the restraints, when the man twisted again, knocking Molly back. His free hand moved, something flashing silver.
Knife.
“Molly!” Gabe yelled and she jumped back in time to avoid the wide swipe of the blade. The man turned the knife on Shoe, but Molly was faster, shooting him in the arm. The blade fell to the floor just as the gun had.
“Shoe, release,” Molly said and, surprise of surprises, Shoe obeyed.
Dad trained him well, Gabe realized, pride for his father warming his chest.
Molly simultaneously grabbed the zip ties from the man’s pocket and planted her boot against the man’s side before shoving him to his back. “Arms to your sides, asshole.” Then she exhaled when he obeyed. “Well, shit.”
Well, shit, indeed.
It was him. The man who’d impersonated Paul Lott. Who’d probably killed him. Who would have killed Xavier. Who would have killed all of us.
The man’s eyes widened in shock before narrowing. “You,” he hissed. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
Molly frowned then nodded briskly. “Because I’m supposed to be in the hospital? Surprise, asshole. I’m just fine.”
So much for keeping a low profile.Pushing his own shock aside, Gabe knelt to gather the man’s weapons and stepped back, giving Molly room to operate.
“Cover me?” she requested. “And shoot the fucker in the head if he so much as twitches.”
“Gladly.” Gabe aimed at the man’s head, not allowing his gaze to wander at all.
“Roll to your stomach,” she commanded, giving their captive a hard kick in the ribs when the man didn’t comply. “Roll. Now.”
“Fucking cunt,” the man muttered, but he obeyed.
Gabe wanted to shoot him for the slur alone, but he managed to control himself. Go, me.
“Arms out,” she snapped, then dropped to her knees when he did. One of her knees landed in the man’s kidney, making him grunt, then moan.
She did that on purpose, Gabe thought, incredibly impressed.
Quickly she restrained his hands, then roughly flipped him to his back. “Who are you?” she demanded coldly.
The man pursed his lips, saying nothing. She gripped her gun and shoved it to his temple. “All three of the others are dead. Start talking or you’re next. Who. Are. You?”
“Maybe he has ID in his wallet,” Gabe said mildly.
Molly’s gaze flicked up to him, then she laughed. “Shit.” Gripping the shoulder of the arm she’d shot and making the man moan, she rolled him to his side so that she could get his wallet. “Here’s his license. Gabe, you’re a genius. He used a fake ID when he posed as Paul Lott, so who knows if this one’s real—but if it is, he’s Nicholas Tobin.” She set the license aside. “Never heard of you. Who hired you?”
Tobin shook his head. “Kill me if you want.”
But there was fear in his eyes. Molly hadn’t missed it, either. “Gabe, can you check on my sister? You okay over there, Chels?”
“Yes,” Chelsea said, the word coming out on a sob.
Now that the danger had passed, Gabe focused his attention on Molly’s sister. She’d slid down the door and was huddled on the floor, her face pressed against her knees, her arms wrapped around her legs. The gun was on the floor at her side, and her body shook with sobs that broke his damn heart.
“Chelsea?” He knelt beside her, afraid to touch her. “I’m Gabe. Are you hurt?”
She shook her head without lifting it. “No. He… Oh my God.”
He chanced a touch, gently stroking her hair, the same golden color as Molly’s. “I know. I’m so sorry.”
“Not your fault,” she choked. Then shuddered out a breath and lifted her chin. And stared. “You’re… Are you… Are you the chef?”
He had to smile. “I am. Gabe Hebert. I’m… well, I’m working with Molly.”
She braved a smile back, but it was faint. “Nice to meet you, Gabe. I’m Chelsea.”
He stroked her hair once more. “Where’s Harper?”
She swallowed hard. “Behind the door.” She tried to stand but was apparently suffering the same rubbery legs that he had. He extended a hand and helped her to her feet, waiting as she opened the bedroom door and rushed inside. “Harper? Baby?”
There wasn’t a sound. Then Gabe heard it.
“Mommy?”
It was coming from the closet. Chelsea ran and flung the door open and once again, Gabe thought his heart would break. Harper had hidden herself under a pile of clothes. The clothes were shaking. Chelsea began pulling them off her until she revealed a small girl with golden curls, her eyes clenched shut, her little tearstained face scrunched up in fear.
She held a steak knife in her trembling hands.
“Honey,” Chelsea murmured. “It’s Mommy. Give me the knife.” She slowly reached for the utensil, and the child gave it up willingly.
She’d had the knife in her room, Gabe realized, and his breaking heart cracked wide open. She’d been assaulted before and was prepared to defend herself.
She was only eight years old.
Suddenly the rage geysered out of him and he stalked from the room, ready to kick the sick sonofabitch Tobin in the head. Bad enough that the child had been hurt by her own father, but to be terrorized by this asshole…
Molly wasn’t in the living room. But Tobin lay on his side, hands still restrained. His ankles had been bound as well and Molly had trussed him up with what looked like a phone charging cord.
“Molly?” Gabe called.
“With Lucien,” she called back.
Good. No one was around to see him kick Tobin’s brain in.
But then Molly rushed back into the room and his cell phone began to buzz. It was a number he didn’t recognize, so he let it go to voice mail.
“We need to go,” Molly said grimly. “Burke called 911 and the cops still aren’t here. Something’s wrong, and I don’t want to wait around for more of these goons to come for Chelsea and Harper.”
“What about Lucien?”
“He says he’ll be okay, and André is on his way.”
“But Lucien’s bleeding.”
Molly stopped in front of him, meeting his gaze squarely. “Lucien will last until André gets here and the medics come. He’s sitting up, he’s lucid, and he’s telling us to go. With all of these gunshots, someone else will have called 911 by now. The cops are coming, and I don’t know if they’ll be good guys or not. We need to go. Now. Once we get Chelsea and Harper to safety, I’ll come back for Lucien.”
Gabe pointed at Tobin. “What about him?”
“André will take care of him. Come on. There’s a fire escape in the back. I might need help getting Chelsea and Harper down it.” She rushed to the bedroom, ignoring Tobin like he didn’t exist, Shoe at her heels. “Chels, pack your meds. We’re getting out of here. Now.”
Gabe stopped, though, kneeling to whisper, “I would have killed you and not lost a wink of sleep.” Although he wasn’t so certain that was true. It was one thing to want to and quite another to have to live with having done so, as Molly could attest. He might have actually killed the guy downstairs, but adrenaline had the thought muted for the moment. He’d have to deal with that later. “Who are you working for?”
The man just grinned. “Enjoy the hours you have left, Hebert. There won’t be many.”
Gabe didn’t answer, but knew they had to do something in case Tobin escaped again. He dug Tobin’s cell phone from his pants pocket and held it up to the man’s face before he could close his eyes.
The phone unlocked, and Gabe went straight to his texts. The most recent was the most damning, with instructions to head to Molly’s address and invite the sister and niece for a “ride.”
“Who’s Jackass?” he asked, noting the name attached to the sender.
“None of your fuckin’ business,” Tobin snarled, struggling against his bonds, but to no avail. “Put my phone down. You’re not allowed to look at it.”
Ignoring him, Gabe took screenshots of the text, the sender’s contact information, and the screen in Tobin’s settings that listed all of the model numbers and stuff. He thought about what else that Antoine might need. Oh. Tobin’s phone number would be nice.
He found that screen, took a screenshot, then sent all of the screenshots to Molly’s burner. Then he wiped his prints from the phone. Using Tobin’s own shirt to grip it without leaving more prints, he shoved it back into Tobin’s pocket.
He knew that Antoine could probably unlock the phone without Tobin’s face, and that they’d get a lot of information from it, but he didn’t want to tamper any more with a crime scene than he’d already done. He didn’t want to do anything that could corrupt the DA’s case against the bastard. His father had drilled that into him. Good police work resulted in solid cases, which delivered unappealable convictions.
He’d have to trust that André would do the right thing. That the system would still somehow work. His father had given his entire life in the service of others. Surely that had to count for something.
Surely there were other cops who would do the same.
“Gabe?” Molly called urgently. “We need to go.”
He took one last look at Tobin, allowed himself one last fantasy of killing the man, then he followed Molly to the fire escape.
Chelsea was waiting at the fire escape, balancing a trembling Harper in her arms along with a small overnight bag. Shoe hovered at her side, his nose pressed to the back of Harper’s leg.
Gabe took the bag. “Can I carry Harper?” he asked.
Chelsea shook her head. “She’s too scared.”
Molly went down the first few steps, her gaze searching the darkness, her gun clutched in her hand. “Come on,” she hissed. “Now.”
Chelsea started down the fire escape, but the stairs were steep and she wobbled. Spurred by Molly’s urgency, Gabe scooped the child from Chelsea’s arms. “Go,” he told her. “Harper, I’m a friend of your aunt Molly’s. My name is Gabe. This is Shoe. He’s a good dog. We’re going to get you downstairs, then I’ll give you back to your mom. Okay?”
Harper’s nod was faint, but clear, so Gabe hefted her to his hip and started down the stairs. Shoe followed, slowing when his paws skittered on the grated steps. “Good boy,” he murmured when Shoe took the final four stairs in a single leap, his tail wagging.
When they got to the bottom of the stairs, he looked for Molly, who emerged from the garage, scowling. “Our borrowed car is gone,” she said harshly.
“Somebody stole it?” Gabe demanded. “Who was left to do that? We took care of all of them.”
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to take my chances that there’s someone down here to catch us. Come on. We’ll take Chelsea’s car and hope they don’t know our license plate numbers.”
