Lamont got out of the car he’d stolen, looking east with a frown. The sun had started to rise. He’d hoped to finish this under the cover of darkness, but stealing a car to make the trip had taken more time than he’d expected.
He’d chosen a name from his list—a meth dealer that he’d helped evade charges a few years before. The man lived close enough to the bayou that it would be quick and easy to borrow his car, dump Ashley’s body, then drive back and get his own vehicle. If anyone saw the sedan near the water’s edge, it would fall back on the meth head.
All he’d wanted was the man to leave his keys in the car, which he’d told him when he’d called him shortly before his arrival. Unfortunately, the meth head had met him with a rifle and a demand for hush money.
So he’d had to take care of the idiot before taking his car and heading here, to the bayou. Now he needed to hurry.
It was still dark enough to hide his face, but he donned the zip-up hoodie anyway, snugging the hood over the ball cap he wore. One never knew when he’d encounter a fisherman out this early. Those guys were far too common in these parts.
And even if he didn’t meet up with a fisherman, his skin would be mostly covered by the hoodie, keeping the worst of the gore out of his hair and off of his face. He’d discard the hoodie afterward. It would be pretty disgusting by then.
His hands were sweating from the leather gloves he wore, but there was no way he was taking them off and leaving fingerprints on the stolen car. He hadn’t come this far to be stupid.
Instead, he pulled a pair of disposable gloves on over the leather ones so that they didn’t get messed up. He liked his leather gloves. They were formfitting, allowing him to fire a gun while wearing them. He’d prefer not to have to throw them away, too.
Opening his trunk, he took out the smaller of the two boxes that he’d wrapped in silver paper. Ripping the paper away, he examined the box, top, sides, and bottom.
It was clean. No leaks. Triple-bagging had done the job.
He took the bag from the box and carried it to the water’s edge. It was still quiet, but the bayou was waking up. Birds were starting to rustle, and fish were feeding on the bugs that swarmed on the water’s surface.
It was deep here. Or, at least, it had been.
He frowned at the exposed roots of the trees, not remembering them from the last time he’d dumped a body in this waterway. It had been after Katrina, though. They’d come in a boat that night, but he’d returned once the floodwaters had receded.
Just to make sure that Nadia’s body was truly gone. Luckily, it had been.
He hoped the water was still deep enough for what he needed it to do.
The first bag wouldn’t be a problem. Ashley’s fingers and toes would soon be fish food. He’d picked up a loose brick from a construction site after buying the knife set and had tied it to her torso, so it would sink. The gators would feast today.
Holding his breath, he opened the bag, held it over the water, and dumped it. Grabbing a downed tree limb, he pushed the torso into the water like it was a shuffleboard disc, then watched as it slowly sank.
One bag down, one to go. The next bag would be harder.
He got it out of the box, again making sure that he’d had no leakage. No leakage meant no fluids had soaked into the trunk’s upholstery—in this car or in the one he’d taken from his own garage and left close to the home of this car’s dead owner. Which meant that the cops would find nothing even if something terrible happened and he was suspected and investigated.
He might be. He didn’t think that anyone at the office suspected that he’d been having an affair with Ashley, but Joelle had known, and she had proof. She hadn’t been lying about the cameras in his study and the adjoining bedroom. He’d found them the night he’d walked Jackass from his study to the front door.
The cameras had been well hidden. Whoever she’d hired to install them had known their stuff. The cameras were still there, but no longer operational. He’d yanked the wires from each one. But if Joelle went looking, she’d see the cameras and wouldn’t suspect a thing.
So, because of his dear wife, he needed to cover his tracks very carefully. He opened the second bag and had to turn his face away when he took an ill-advised breath through his nose. It had only been twelve hours, but the body had started to stink.
All the better for the gators. They’d come for the stink and stay for the buffet.
He reached into the bag, pulled out an arm, and flung it into the river. It made a satisfying splash, bobbing on the surface for a second or two before sinking.
Keep going. Just don’t breathe. He didn’t want to puke. That would leave DNA that he’d have to destroy.
Quickly he tossed another arm into the water, following it with all the pieces of her legs.
Now it was just her—
He hesitated, grimacing again. He didn’t want to look at it, didn’t want to see her face in its death rictus, but he couldn’t just shove it into the water as he’d done her torso and he wasn’t sure he had the stomach to fling it in like he had her limbs.
He reached into the bag and immediately yanked his arm out. Gross. So gross.
Stop being a pussy. Just do it.
He’d reached into the bag a second time when he heard a vehicle’s engine, roaring through the quiet air. Fucking hell. Shit, damn, fuck. Someone was coming. Someone would see.
Gripping the bag, he moved back toward his car. To where he’d left his gun.
He grabbed the gun, cursing when his gloved hands, now slippery with Ashley’s blood, slid uselessly over the gun’s slide. Heart beating way too fast, he ripped the surgical gloves from the leather gloves he wore. He threw the surgical gloves into the bag along with the rest of Ashley’s… remains.
Her head. Just say it.
Then he exhaled. It was Jackass’s Range Rover. But then he tensed again.
What the hell was Jackass doing here? And how did he know I was even here?
Lamont racked the gun, chambering the first bullet as Jackass slowed to a stop. The man should not be here. He couldn’t trust that this was anything good.
Grabbing the bag in one hand, he edged toward the water’s edge once again. If worse came to worst he’d fling the whole damn bag in.
“Mornin’, Monty,” Jackass called, getting out of the vehicle. “Whatcha doing?”
None of your fucking business.“Fishing,” he called back. “Why are you here?”
Leaving his engine running, Jackass sauntered closer, his eyes on the bag. Not on my hand. Which clutched the gun, ready to shoot if he needed to.
“What’s in the bag, Monty?” The question was asked smugly, like he already knew.
“Supplies. Bait. You know.”
“I think I do.” Jackass stopped a foot away. “She heard you talking, didn’t she?”
He blinked. “What?” How had he—
“You had to go and kill her, didn’t you?” Jackass continued, shaking his head. “Even after we talked about it. It wasn’t smart, Monty.” And suddenly, Jackass held a gun.
Pointed at me.
“You’re under arrest for the murder of Ashley Resnick,” Jackass said calmly. “Drop the gun you’re holding behind your back and put your hands behind your head.”
Lamont took another step back. “How did you know?”
Because when he walked away from this, he’d need to know which leak to plug.
“I didn’t until now, not for sure. I heard a gasp, right there at the end of our conversation, so I followed you once you’d left your house. I was really hoping that you hadn’t killed her, but I figured you had. You’re becoming predictable, Monty. But you did stump me when you switched vehicles, I have to say. Wasn’t expecting that. But this was where we dumped she-who-shall-not-be-named. That this here”—he gestured to the bag—“was Ashley isn’t that big a leap. Neither was my guess that you’d bring her here. You’re nothing if not a creature of habit, Monty. So drop the gun.”
“How did you follow me?”
“Trackers on all of your vehicles. For years. I know everywhere you’ve been, old friend. And everything you’ve done. Shame you had to kill the girl. She was an animal in bed.”
“How—” His brain whirred as he processed this smug pronouncement. “You saw us?”
The man grinned. “In your very own home.”
“You saw the video Joelle took.”
Jackass laughed. “Who do you think installed the cameras? I did it as a favor to a good friend because she was so devastated that her husband had strayed.” His expression became grim. “You’ve become a liability, but killing your mistress again is crossing the line. You were useful to me for a time, but cleaning up your messes has become inconvenient for my career.” He gestured with the gun. “Drop your gun.”
Fucking bastard. No way am I dropping my gun. I’d never make it out of here alive. He’ll kill me, saying that I was “resisting arrest.”Instead, he flung the bag at Jackass, hitting him square in the chest.
And the… thing … the head… rolled out, landing on the ground with a wet squelch.
Jackass was distracted—for just a moment, but that was all the time Lamont needed. He brought his arm up and fired.
Jackass staggered back, but no blood appeared on his white shirt.
Fucking Kevlar.
The man was righting himself, shaking off the pain of the impact, so Lamont fired again.
Right between the eyes. Yessss.
Jackass dropped like a rock.
And now he had to dispose of his body as well, dammit. At least he’d kept the cleaver. He’d planned to bury it somewhere when he’d finished disposing of Ashley’s body.
Better get started. Day’s a-wastin’.
Ignoring the shaking of his hands, he went back to his trunk for another pair of surgical gloves. There was no way he was touching that… head without them. His leather gloves were expensive, after all. He set the gun down, then pulled on the second pair of gloves.
Then spun when a twig snapped behind him.
Two people stood there, a man and a woman. The man he recognized, and for a moment he flinched. Rocky Hebert.
No. Not Rocky.Rocky was dead. This was Gabe, the son. That meant that the woman had to be the lady PI, Margaret Sutton.
He blinked in shock for a long moment. She couldn’t be here. She was supposed to be in the hospital. With a concussion. Jackass had said so.
It appeared that Jackass had been wrong, because here she was.
This wasn’t good.
Both Sutton and Hebert held guns. The woman had hers pointed at Lamont’s heart, and he wasn’t wearing Kevlar, dammit. The man was more of a threat, however. Gabe Hebert held a gun in one hand, his cell phone in the other. And he seemed to be recording.
At least I’m wearing a hoodie.He lowered his head, making sure his face wasn’t visible.
Run. Run. Run.
“Put your hands on the back of your head,” the woman said, her eyes narrowed. “Now. Gabe, step back and give me some room. And keep recording, please.”
Rocky’s boy complied, his lip curling in an angry sneer. “You fucking killed him. That wasn’t yours to do.”
“And whose was it, boy?” he asked in a tone much deeper than his normal, watching the woman from the corner of his eye. Waiting for her to be distracted.
Her eyes were still narrowed. No… they were squinting. The rising sun was right behind him. She could probably see well enough to shoot him, but she was concentrating really hard.
Distraction. He no longer held the bag with Ashley’s head. He needed something else. Something that would make her flinch. Just for a second.
“No one’s,” Gabe spat. “He killed my father. He should be in prison, and now you’ve ruined it.”
Well, that was one bright spot. Rocky’s boy doesn’t suspect me of killing his daddy. And if I have my way, Gabe will have no idea of who I am.
All of his co-conspirators were dead. All he had to do was get away, and he’d be fine.
Everything would be fine.
“Hands behind your head,” the woman said again. “I’ve already shot someone tonight. I really don’t want to make it a habit.”
Oh, isn’t she simply hilarious?She wasn’t looking away from him, her concentration fierce. If she’d meant to shoot him, she would have.
She was waiting for backup. Fucking hell.
He was going to have to create his own distraction. It was Hail Mary time.
He bowed his head and… charged, knocking his head into her torso. She stumbled back, her gun firing, but the bullet went straight up.
He heard Gabe shout, “Molly!” before running to her side.
It was the only opportunity he’d have to escape, and it wasn’t a big one because Molly was already getting up. He grabbed his gun from the car’s trunk but didn’t have time to get out his keys and start his own damn stolen vehicle, because the woman was now firing at him.
He zigzagged as he ran for Jackass’s Range Rover, with its still-running engine, avoiding her first two shots. He turned and fired back, his shot going wide, but it bought him the few seconds he needed to get to the far side of the Rover, which was pointed toward the water. Using the vehicle as a shield, he shot back, missing again.
And again. He kept missing while her bullets kept coming closer and closer.
He fired again and… nothing happened. Just an ominous click. A jam. Goddammit.
For a few seconds, he tried to clear the chamber, but his hands were shaking and she was coming closer.
Run. Just run.
He’d climbed into the driver’s seat when a bullet shattered his front passenger window.
He threw Jackass’s SUV into reverse and floored it, escaping the next four bullets. He turned the wheel, swerving toward the road before shoving it into drive, flooring it again, hunching down again as a final bullet shattered his back window.
Could have been a helluva lot worse.
He careened around the curves, spotting a sedan parked on the side of the road. That had to have been the car that Hebert and Sutton had driven here. If he’d had time, he’d have shot it to pieces. But he didn’t have time, so he kept driving like a bat out of hell until the highway approached.
Freedom.He fought the urge to holler a triumphant whoop, focusing instead on the road.
And then he scowled. “I should have run them over,” he snarled aloud. Why didn’t I run them over? But it was too late now.
Especially since two SUVs were headed the way he’d come. The SUV in front looked like a cop car. If the driver had seen his broken windows, he was sunk. Quickly he switched off his headlights and pulled into the parking lot for a swamp tour company—the last business on this road. There were already a few cars parked in the lot, so he wouldn’t stand out. He rolled down the side windows, hiding the damage they’d sustained, but there wasn’t anything to be done about the back window that was pebbled to hell and hanging on to the frame with a prayer.
Holding his breath, he watched as the SUV and the truck passed him by and turned onto the side road.
Guess it was a good thing that I didn’t linger.But they’d figure out soon enough that they’d let him escape. Gabe and the woman he’d called Molly would tell them. The driver of the SUV would put a BOLO out on the Rover and every cop in the area would be looking for him.
He’d killed their boss. They’d be frothing at the mouth for a chance at him.
Gotta ditch the Rover.Luckily, he wasn’t too far from where he’d stolen the car that he’d left at the water’s edge with Jackass’s body.
Everything was going to be fine.
Bayou Barataria, Louisiana
THURSDAY, JULY 28, 6:40 A.M.
“Well, shit,” Molly muttered, as the Range Rover’s taillights disappeared. “This sucks.”
“At least you’re okay,” Gabe said. “Better than that guy over there.”
“True. You still recording?”
Gabe checked his phone. “No. I must have stopped it when I ran to you. Should I restart?”
“Maybe in a minute.” Molly turned to study the body, not taking any steps closer. “The ground’s wet here. There might be footprints.”
“For who to collect?” Gabe asked. “André or Antoine?”
Their answer came a moment later as two cars came speeding down the road. One was a black SUV, the other, Burke’s blue Escalade.
“I think the first SUV is André’s,” she said. “So…”
“Once again we’re caught with a corpse,” Gabe said heavily. “And this one’s a cop.”
Indeed he was. One of the top cops, in fact. “Mule’s corpse isn’t ours, though. The security cams in my building will show that we shot the others in self-defense. Your video will show that someone else shot Mule.”
Gabe’s gaze turned a fraction, his eyes widening as he grew frighteningly pale. “Oh my God. Molly.”
She pivoted to look to where he was focused. Oh dear Lord. She fought the urge to gag at the remains the man in the hoodie had flung at Mule. “Just… don’t look at it, okay?”
But Gabe didn’t move. “Is that a…”
“Yes. It’s a head.” A female’s head, if the hair was any indication. Hoodie Guy had clearly been disposing of a body. She gripped Gabe’s biceps, tugging until he turned away from the grisly sight. “Stay here and try not to pass out, okay? But if you do, no one will blame you.”
Molly walked toward the two new vehicles, squaring her shoulders.
She holstered her gun and met André and Burke halfway. “Mule’s dead. We didn’t do it. The shooter got away in a Range Rover.”
André’s jaw clenched. “Dammit. Give me a second to call in a BOLO.”
She waited until he was done before explaining. “Some guy in a hoodie shot Mule. The two were arguing about something, then Hoodie Guy flung a bag at Mule, distracted him, then shot him twice—once in the chest and once in the head. We approached then, but…” She sighed. “It’s my fault he got away. I had my gun trained on him, but he charged, and I wasn’t expecting that. He knocked me down and… I guess I’m tired. My reflexes weren’t what they should have been. I shot at his tires as he was driving away, and I hit them, but he kept driving.”
“Probably had run-flat tires.” Burke lightly grabbed her shoulders and checked her over. “But you’re okay? You and Gabe?”
“Yes,” she said with disgust. “Hoodie Guy grabbed a gun from the trunk of that car parked over there and ran.”
André was shaking his head. “Fucking hell, this is a mess. I’m glad he didn’t shoot you, Molly, but why didn’t he?”
“He did shoot at me but kept missing, and then he stopped. I was shooting at him as he ran. I don’t know. Maybe he lost his nerve?”
“His gun jammed,” Gabe said. “I saw him trying to clear it right before he got in the Range Rover. At that point I was more afraid he’d use the SUV to run us down.”
“Or to force you into the water,” André agreed. “All right. Y’all stay back here, and I’ll take a look at Mule. I need to be sure he’s dead and doesn’t need the medics.” His body was rigid as he approached the dead cop.
“Oh, he’s for sure dead,” Molly muttered, then smacked her forehead. “André, Gabe got the whole thing on video.”
André stopped short and hurried back to them. “Let me see.”
Gabe hit play, turning the screen so that Burke and André could watch. When it was over, both Burke and André looked relieved.
“This is gonna save y’all’s bacon,” Burke declared.
André nodded. “Absolutely. Too bad we can’t hear what they were saying, though.”
“We didn’t want to get any closer,” Gabe said apologetically. “But then he was going to…” He grimaced, swallowing hard. “That thing he threw at Mule was a woman’s head. He was going to throw it into the water.”
“Of course he was,” Burke murmured, his voice gone thick. “We need to find out who he was disposing of.”
André made an unpleasant face. “Yeah. Stay here. Just so you know, I have backup coming. Send that video to the cloud. I wouldn’t want it ‘accidentally’ erased before we can use it to clear you of any suspicion here.”
Molly watched as André knelt by Mule’s body and pressed two fingers to his throat.
“It’s my fault the man in the hoodie got away,” Molly said quietly to Burke. “I was too tired to do this, and my reflexes had gone to shit.”
“Shut up,” Burke said, putting an arm around her in a brief side hug. “You stopped him from disposing of evidence. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“Thank you,” Gabe said, with a hint of sharpness. “She’ll be blaming herself from now till doomsday.”
One side of Burke’s mouth lifted. “You know her pretty well already.”
Molly felt her cheeks heating, which was ridiculous under the circumstances. “Did you send the video to your cloud account, Gabe?”
“Already done. And I sent a link to Antoine so that he could view it.”
Burke’s half smile became a grin. “Damn, boy. You’d make a good PI.”
Gabe shook his head. “No, sir. I’m going to be a boring chef for the rest of my natural life.”
Molly caught a sudden movement in André’s direction and barely stifled a shriek. “André!”
Because a gator—a fucking big gator—was climbing out of the water and headed for the head.
André whirled and fired, his shots intentionally going wide, all hitting the water around the gator. Burke ran to André’s side and added his own fire.
The gator slithered back into the water and André stumbled back, Burke righting him with a hand to the cop’s back.
“Holy hell,” Gabe whispered weakly. “Just… goddamn. This day keeps going on.”
“I should have helped them,” Molly said, trying to ignore the way her entire body was now shaking. “But I can’t seem to make my legs move.”
It had been a fucking long day, and she was spent, her legs like jelly.
“Then stay here with me.” Gabe put an arm around her waist, encouraging her to lean on him. Which felt so nice. “You’ve saved enough people for one day.”
They stood there together, watching as André gingerly pulled the victim’s remains away from the water’s edge. Then he seemed to freeze.
Molly took a step forward. “I wonder if André knows the victim. Or Burke,” she added when her boss crouched at André’s side.
Gabe followed as she walked toward the scene, her steps careful so that she didn’t contaminate any other evidence that the man in the hoodie might have left behind.
“You know her?” she called.
“Yeah,” Burke called back over his shoulder. “Stay where you are.” She and Gabe stopped, waiting until Burke joined them. “Well, Xavier and Carlos’s plan of calling yesterday’s visitor is now toast.”
Molly sighed. “The woman who claimed to be Nadia Hall’s sister, but who gave you all the wrong names?”
Burke’s nod was short. “Yeah. Her.”
Molly leaned her head on Gabe’s shoulder. “I’m really tired, Burke.” And she might even have a bruised rib or two. Hoodie Guy had a hard head.
André pointed to his SUV. “Get in the back seat and take a load off. I’d planned to interview you at the camp, but I’m gonna need to do this by the book. Give me your phone, Gabe. I’ll keep it safe.”
Unsaid was the alternative. If cops swarmed this place, someone who was not their friend might take Gabe’s phone, and he’d never see it again.
Gabe gave the phone to André, who pocketed it. Then the chef turned crime fighter gave her his arm and helped her into André’s SUV.
“One of these days we’ll have us a real date,” Gabe said lightly as he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “I’m pretty sure we can do better than this.”
Surprised, she huffed a laugh. “I’m pretty sure that’s true.” She sobered, trying to think clearly. “We’re going to be interrogated. André calls it an interview, but let’s be honest—they’re going to hit us hard with questions we’re going to have to answer. I wonder if we should call Willa Mae to represent us, just in case.”
Gabe kissed the top of her head. “Might not be a bad plan. Give me a minute to catch my breath and I’ll make the call.”
“You can’t. André took your phone.”
“Oh, right. Then you make the call. You’ve still got your burner, don’t you?”
“I do.” She distanced herself from Gabe only long enough to find her burner. “I don’t have her number, but I do have Antoine’s. Someone’s going to have to get her from Burke’s place if she’s able to legally represent us. I don’t know if she’s licensed to practice in Louisiana, or if that was just theater the day she took the dollar to represent Xavier.”
“Which was only Tuesday,” Gabe said glumly. “Feels like a year ago.”
She patted his thigh. “Don’t get discouraged, Gabe. We’re figuring stuff out.”
He sighed. “Not fast enough.”
Bayou Gauche, Louisiana
THURSDAY, JULY 28, 9:00 A.M.
“No.” Cicely turned on her heel and walked into Burke’s kitchen, a woman on a mission.
A mission to avoid her son, who was just about going out of his damn mind.
Xavier looked at Antoine, who’d arrived in a boat to escort Willa Mae to the police station where both Molly and Gabe had been detained. While I sit here doing abso-fucking-lutely nothing. “Come on, man. Take me with you. I need to help.”
Antoine gave him a look of sympathy. “I get it, but I’m with your mom on this one. At this point, you are too valuable a witness to lose. You are not safe out there. I’m sorry.”
Xavier crossed his arms over his chest, fighting the urge to pout. “I was five years old when I saw Nadia Hall murdered. Nobody’s gonna take my word for it anyway.”
“You’d be surprised,” Willa Mae said, pausing in the hallway. She wore a suit. And heels. And pearls.
“You look nice, ma’am,” Xavier told her. “Very lawyerly.”
She snorted. “I should. I was a lawyer for more years than you’ve been alive.”
“How did you know to bring a suit, Miss Willa Mae?” Carlos asked. “We just ran from town with the clothes on our backs.”
“Yeah,” Manny chimed in. “Are you clairvoyant or something?”
Willa Mae gave them a fond smile. “No, although I wish I were. I just figured that you boys might need an attorney after the fine mess y’all’ve gotten yourselves into.”
Xavier’s brows shot up. “We didn’t get ourselves into any—” He cut himself off when he saw the sparkle in the older woman’s eyes. “You’re just messin’ with me.”
“Only a little. Now, you listen to an old lady. Your mother needs you. She needs you alive, she needs you whole, and she needs you to sit with her and hold her hand. I know you feel like you need to do something. At this point, that’s what you can do. You can help your poor mama get through this. She’s keeping a stiff upper lip, but she is falling apart inside.” She gave his cheek an affectionate pat. “Be the man that I know you are and take care of your mother. Stop this feeling sorry for yourself. Not that you don’t have a right to,” she added. “But it isn’t going to help you or the woman sitting at Burke’s kitchen table trying her best not to cry.”
Xavier bowed his head for a moment before nodding because Willa Mae was right. “Yes, ma’am. But please let us know what’s happening.”
“Kid, you know everything we do,” Antoine said. “That Lott’s impersonator is Nicholas Tobin, that the grand fromage was Mule, and that some dude in a hoodie offed him, then ran.”
“Grand fromage?” Manny asked.
“Big cheese,” Willa Mae supplied, and Manny laughed while Xavier shook his head.
“And the dude in the hoodie was feeding a body to the gators,” Carlos inserted helpfully. “You can’t forget that part.”
“I was trying to,” Antoine said with a grimace. “This is why I’m not a cop. I don’t have the stomach for such things. You ready, ma’am?”
“I am, indeed. I’m leaving, Cicely,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll call you when I know something. For now, don’t worry. They’re just being interviewed. André said that Gabe has video evidence that they didn’t have any part in this morning’s murder.”
“This morning’s murder,” Xavier said with a sigh. “Now we’re labeling the murders to keep track. I don’t even know how many there’ve been.”
“I know,” Carlos said. “I’ve been keeping a list.”
“Of course you have,” Xavier muttered. “So? How many?”
Carlos took out his phone and counted. “Fifteen, starting way back at the beginning. Nadia Hall, Rocky, Dr. Benson, and Paul Lott. Then the guy who you shot, Xavier, but who somebody else—who was not you—actually killed. Eckert the hit man, the pathologist, the mortician, the three guards who attacked Molly’s family, the two that Val took out, the lady who pretended to be Nadia’s sister, and Mule. Fifteen.”
Bayou Gauche, Louisiana
THURSDAY, JULY 28, 9:00 A.M.
“No.” Cicely turned on her heel and walked into Burke’s kitchen, a woman on a mission.
A mission to avoid her son, who was just about going out of his damn mind.
Xavier looked at Antoine, who’d arrived in a boat to escort Willa Mae to the police station where both Molly and Gabe had been detained. While I sit here doing abso-fucking-lutely nothing. “Come on, man. Take me with you. I need to help.”
Antoine gave him a look of sympathy. “I get it, but I’m with your mom on this one. At this point, you are too valuable a witness to lose. You are not safe out there. I’m sorry.”
Xavier crossed his arms over his chest, fighting the urge to pout. “I was five years old when I saw Nadia Hall murdered. Nobody’s gonna take my word for it anyway.”
“You’d be surprised,” Willa Mae said, pausing in the hallway. She wore a suit. And heels. And pearls.
“You look nice, ma’am,” Xavier told her. “Very lawyerly.”
She snorted. “I should. I was a lawyer for more years than you’ve been alive.”
“How did you know to bring a suit, Miss Willa Mae?” Carlos asked. “We just ran from town with the clothes on our backs.”
“Yeah,” Manny chimed in. “Are you clairvoyant or something?”
Willa Mae gave them a fond smile. “No, although I wish I were. I just figured that you boys might need an attorney after the fine mess y’all’ve gotten yourselves into.”
Xavier’s brows shot up. “We didn’t get ourselves into any—” He cut himself off when he saw the sparkle in the older woman’s eyes. “You’re just messin’ with me.”
“Only a little. Now, you listen to an old lady. Your mother needs you. She needs you alive, she needs you whole, and she needs you to sit with her and hold her hand. I know you feel like you need to do something. At this point, that’s what you can do. You can help your poor mama get through this. She’s keeping a stiff upper lip, but she is falling apart inside.” She gave his cheek an affectionate pat. “Be the man that I know you are and take care of your mother. Stop this feeling sorry for yourself. Not that you don’t have a right to,” she added. “But it isn’t going to help you or the woman sitting at Burke’s kitchen table trying her best not to cry.”
Xavier bowed his head for a moment before nodding because Willa Mae was right. “Yes, ma’am. But please let us know what’s happening.”
“Kid, you know everything we do,” Antoine said. “That Lott’s impersonator is Nicholas Tobin, that the grand fromage was Mule, and that some dude in a hoodie offed him, then ran.”
“Grand fromage?” Manny asked.
“Big cheese,” Willa Mae supplied, and Manny laughed while Xavier shook his head.
“And the dude in the hoodie was feeding a body to the gators,” Carlos inserted helpfully. “You can’t forget that part.”
“I was trying to,” Antoine said with a grimace. “This is why I’m not a cop. I don’t have the stomach for such things. You ready, ma’am?”
“I am, indeed. I’m leaving, Cicely,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll call you when I know something. For now, don’t worry. They’re just being interviewed. André said that Gabe has video evidence that they didn’t have any part in this morning’s murder.”
“This morning’s murder,” Xavier said with a sigh. “Now we’re labeling the murders to keep track. I don’t even know how many there’ve been.”
“I know,” Carlos said. “I’ve been keeping a list.”
“Of course you have,” Xavier muttered. “So? How many?”
Carlos took out his phone and counted. “Fifteen, starting way back at the beginning. Nadia Hall, Rocky, Dr. Benson, and Paul Lott. Then the guy who you shot, Xavier, but who somebody else—who was not you—actually killed. Eckert the hit man, the pathologist, the mortician, the three guards who attacked Molly’s family, the two that Val took out, the lady who pretended to be Nadia’s sister, and Mule. Fifteen.”
“It’s okay. Miss Willa Mae explained it all just fine.”
Cicely smiled weakly. “She’s good at that. I didn’t know that she’d kept up her license here and in Texas, but I’m glad she did, for Molly and Gabe’s sake.”
“I hate that they’re in trouble because of—” He stopped himself from saying me. “Because of all this.”
His mother was not fooled. “Good catch there, son. You are as much a victim of all of this as anyone else. Probably more. You think you’re not helping, but you are. Without you, nobody would have known to look for Nadia Hall. And your turn is coming, Xavier. When Molly and Burke and André unravel all of this craziness, you’re going to be called on to testify. That’s not going to be easy.”
“Testify against who?” Xavier asked, so very frustrated. “Everyone’s dead.”
“Not the man who killed Mule,” Cicely said quietly. “If that man wearing the hoodie was disposing of the body of the young woman who came to see Burke—who was definitely involved in some way—then he’s involved, too. We just don’t know how yet. And we don’t know who Nadia’s lover was back then. It might have been Mule or someone else. We just don’t know.”
No, they didn’t know. But they might be able to help find out. “I have an idea about what we can do while we’re waiting. Carlos! Manny! Can you come in here?”
Seconds later, the brothers were crowded around him. “What’s up?” Carlos asked.
Xavier motioned for them to sit. “I was just thinking that there’s something we can do. Remember when we were brainstorming last night?”
Carlos blinked. “Yeah, that really was just last night. Yes. I remember. Why?”
“Remember when Gabe was petting Shoe and asked Molly, ‘What about the dog?’ ”
A slow smile spread over Carlos’s face. “We’re going to call all the veterinarians in New Orleans.”
Xavier nodded. “Yes, we are.”
Manny took out his phone. “I got my burner and it’s got a full charge. Let’s do this.”
Xavier glanced at his mother to gauge her reaction. She was nodding. “I’ll look up the names and numbers on my phone,” she said. “You boys can make the calls.”
Xavier held up a hand. “Hold up. We know now how easy it is to trace our calls.”
“I already knew,” Carlos said smugly.
Xavier found he could still smile. “I’m sure you did. Those crime shows you love have served us all well. Do you know how to make it look like we’re calling from different numbers?”
“Spoofing,” Cicely said, and they all stared at her. She frowned. “What? You don’t think I know stuff? Spoofing is when you fake the number you’re calling from. One of the nurses did it when she was harassing her ex-boyfriend. She got in trouble for doing it, just so you know.”
“But we wouldn’t be doing it for any illegal reasons,” Manny said. “Plus, they’d have to catch us first, and this is an untraceable phone. Let me pull up a spoofing website.” He gave Cicely a nod. “Nice job, Mrs. M.”
She reached across the table to pat his arm. “Thank you, Manny. It’s nice to be appreciated.”
Xavier tapped the table until she met his eyes. “I appreciate you, Mama. More than I can ever say.”
Her eyes filled again, and she waved him away. “Hush, now. We have work to do.”
