Molly woke up with a jerk, bolting upright in bed. A strange bed.
She’d already grabbed her gun from the nightstand before inhaling deeply. Peanut butter cookies.
Slowly she returned the gun to the nightstand, clarity returning. Her sister and niece had been making peanut butter cookies in Farrah’s kitchen when Molly and Gabe had fallen asleep, and the delicious scent still hung in the air, hours later.
It had to be hours later. When they’d gone to sleep, the sun was still high in the sky. Farrah’s spare bedroom was already semi-dark, sunset approaching.
“You okay up there?” Gabe asked, his voice a little thick with sleep.
She glanced down to see that he’d rolled to his back and was staring up at her, amusement in his hazel eyes, the last rays of daylight making his dark red curls glimmer like fire. “Just that moment when you wake up and realize that you don’t know where you are.”
“You’re right here with me,” he drawled, and she smiled.
“Yes, I am.”
“And nobody’s shooting at us,” he added lightly.
“For now.”
He chuckled. “There’s my eternal optimist. Come back down here. Your energy is making me tired again.”
She complied, resting her head against his shoulder, sighing as his arms came around her. They were mostly dressed. Molly was wearing an oversized T-shirt that probably belonged to André. Gabe had on a pair of athletic shorts, his chest wonderfully bare and warm, smelling of soap and sleep and clean sweat. This was nice. More than nice. This was the feeling that smart people fought to keep forever.
They’d initially been put in separate rooms, but they’d met in the hallway when they’d both tiptoed out to find the other. They’d agreed on Gabe’s bed, because it was bigger.
Neither of them had wanted to sleep alone, and he’d held her almost desperately before his body had gradually relaxed into slumber. He’d held her like she was his lifeline.
She got the feeling. He was quickly becoming hers.
She didn’t want to think about what would have happened had he not been there in her apartment building’s garage. She’d acted rashly, charging ahead without scoping out the scene, her mind focused on the danger to her family. Gabe had been slower, more cognizant of their surroundings. Of the threats.
And he’d saved her life. By killing a man.
She’d killed the night before as well, and while she’d probably have a nightmare or two, she’d mostly made her peace with it. The man had been coming after her family. He’d tried to kill her and, if he’d succeeded, he would have killed Lucien and Gabe. And then he and Tobin would have taken Chelsea and Harper and who knew what would have happened next? She shuddered at the thought.
Besides, that first kill was usually the hardest. She remembered the first time she’d killed a man, back in Iraq. She’d had violent nightmares every night for nearly a year thereafter. Sometimes she still did, even now. And Jake… Killing her brother-in-law had been one of the lowest moments of her life.
She’d do it again without hesitation, but she’d emerged from the experience with scars on her heart that might always remain. She worried that Gabe wouldn’t be able to accept what he’d done.
“Are you okay?” Molly murmured, nearly purring when he began stroking her hair, struck by the fact that he was comforting her. “This has been intense.”
“We only slept,” he said dryly. “Despite what your sister is probably thinking that we’re doing back here.”
She looked up to see him smirking and the sight made her heart lighter. If he could still joke after everything that had happened, he was far stronger than she was. She still had trouble seeing the brighter side of life. It seemed safer somehow.
She lowered her head, loving the feel of his warm skin and soft chest hair against her cheek. “I meant the last twenty-four hours have been intense.”
He said nothing for a moment, then sighed. “Not to complain, but the last six weeks have been intense.”
He had every right to complain. She petted the hairs on his chest, keeping her touch soothing rather than sexual. “I’m optimistic that it’ll be over soon.”
She felt his chuckle more than she heard it. “I see what you did there. I hope you’re right. I don’t think I can keep up this pace much longer. It’s physically exhausting, but more mentally draining. I don’t know how you guys do it.”
“I’m wrung out, too. Usually, we’re helping strangers. This… well, it’s not usually this… personal.” They were sleeping together and, even if today was only sleeping, they’d already had sex once. They’d talked about continuing their nascent relationship when this was over. She wasn’t sure how much more personal it could get.
He flinched. “I’m sorry. I never wanted your family to get hurt.”
Once again, she pulled back to look at him, needing him to understand. “Well, that, too, but that’s not what I meant. Yes, I’m terrified for my family, and I hate that they were terrorized last night, especially because they were just getting over what happened before. But right now, I meant that I’ve never gotten involved with a client before. Not until you. This is personal, Gabe. This right here. Us. We are personal.”
He went very still, holding her gaze. “Why didn’t you get involved with clients before?” he asked, his voice dipping low.
“I never wanted to. Nobody even made me think about it, not until I walked into the Choux that first time and saw you behind the kitchen glass. I wanted to talk to you, to maybe ask you out for coffee or something, but… I don’t know. Maybe I wasn’t ready. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten involved with you right now, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. I could have kept you safer had I kept you at arm’s length, but…” She lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “I couldn’t seem to help myself.”
“I’m glad,” he murmured, sending chills racing across her skin. “Because I can’t seem to help myself, either. I want you, Molly Sutton. May I have you?”
Her cheeks heated in pleasure at the polite request. “I’ve been hoping you would.”
He kissed her then, long and… calm. There was a possessiveness in his touch, but it wasn’t the frantic grasping and stroking of their last time together in the hotel room.
This was confident and sure. The question in her mind wasn’t Does he like me, but more What will make him feel good? She swept her palm over his chest, teasing his nipples, feeling the harsh intake of his breath against her lips.
“Like that?” she whispered.
“Mmm. Yes. Please.” He rolled closer and his body was hot and hard… and ready. Very ready. His hands were relaxed but sure as he stroked up her thigh, urging her leg over his hip.
She continued the caresses, drifting lower and lower with each sweep of her hand. This felt lazy. Decadent. Like they had all the time in the world as the sun set over the water and the ceiling fan slowly turned.
But what if we don’t? What if the next shooter—
Stop it. Stop thinking. Just be.She banished the dark thought of what if, slipping her fingers beneath the waistband of his shorts, questing. He interrupted her journey when he slid his palm under the long T-shirt, cupping her butt, his hand freezing when he touched bare skin.
He reared back, eyes wide and full of old-fashioned lust. “No panties? Molly Sutton, you’re a bad girl.”
“Wasn’t wearing any earlier, either,” she said with a grin. “Not all day.” Her panties had been in the dryer when they’d left that morning to follow Mule, and borrowing underwear… Just no.
He groaned softly, sending shivers rippling down her body straight to her core. “I’m glad I didn’t know that then. I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on anything but your ass.” He groped her butt with a salacious waggle of his brows, making her giggle. “It’s a very, very nice ass, by the way.”
She pushed past his waistband, finding him bare beneath. Sliding her hand over his hip, she gave his butt cheek a squeeze. “Pot meet kettle,” she said, then returned to the part of him that really held her interest, wrapping her fingers around his erection. He was hard and hot, pulsing in her hand.
He let go of her ass long enough to shove his shorts down and tried to tug her shirt off. “You have to let go of me for a second,” he whispered, brushing another kiss over her lips.
She smiled. “But what if I don’t want to?”
“Then I can’t touch you and—” He made a startled sound when she let him go, yanked the shirt off herself, then fused their mouths together while gripping his cock once more.
He groaned again, deep and rumbly, before rolling her to her back and sliding down her body, kissing her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breast. Then he sucked her nipple into his mouth, and she arched, her back coming off the mattress. She wanted to cry out, but there were people in the kitchen, close enough to hear her.
And this was private. This was for them. This was a brief oasis where they could take what they needed from each other, filling the places deep inside that had been so empty. So lonely.
They were lonely no more. Not right this minute, anyway, and for now, that was all that mattered.
She tunneled her fingers through his loose curls, soft between her fingers, tightening her grip on his hair when he started to lift his head. “No, don’t stop.”
“Not plannin’ to.” He gave her a wicked wink, then switched breasts, his hand curving over her hip on his way to her ass, which he gently squeezed again. He looked up, his mouth wet, eyes burning. “You have a beautiful body.”
“Mmm, so do you.” She ran her hands over his wide shoulders, lifting her knees to hug his lean hips and tilting her own higher to put his hard cock right where she needed it most. She shuddered, biting back a groan.
Well, not exactly where she needed it most. “Condom,” she whispered.
He raised to his elbows and reached for the packet on his nightstand. She’d placed a gun on hers. Protection, either way. The chuckle on her lips dissolved into an impatient sigh when he reared back, kneeling between her legs to roll the condom down his length.
She trailed her fingertips down his chest, across his abs, veering from his cock to lightly brush his balls. “If I’d known what you were hiding under that chef’s coat, I would have climbed you like a tree the first time I ate at the Choux.”
Breathing hard now, he grinned down at her. “Better than my chocolate cake?”
“I’m not sure,” she said tartly. “Best to make an informed choice.”
He laughed, then slid his finger into her heat, and both of them groaned quietly. “I want our next time to be somewhere that we can be loud as we want,” he whispered.
“Agree. Just…” She arched again when he curved his finger inside her, covering her mouth to muffle what would have been a shout. “Hurry, Gabe. Please.”
“No. No hurrying this time. I’m going to…” He sucked in a breath as he slid into her in one smooth stroke and hummed, the sound vibrating along her skin. “Gonna take my time.” His next kiss was sinful and left her seeking more when he lifted his head enough to whisper, “Gonna savor what’s mine.”
Mine. God, she wanted to be his. She was almost afraid of how much she wanted it. She cupped his face with one hand, loving the feel of his stubble against her palm, and threaded the fingers of the other through his curls. “I like that. Being yours.”
He met her gaze. Held it for just long enough. “Thought you might.”
He was quiet then, the only sound that of his skin on hers, her sigh, his soft groan. The quickening of their breaths. Her gasp when he did something with his hips that made her arch once again and her whispered pleading. “Please, Gabe. More. Please. I need—”
“I know what you need.” He kissed her hard, then lifted his body, framing her shoulders with his capable hands. Then he gave her what she wanted, what she needed, lunging harder and faster and way more intensely. She met him thrust for thrust until her body stiffened.
She threw back her head and, biting her lip to stay quiet, came harder than she ever had in her life.
And after the last time, that was saying something.
She collapsed back to the mattress, staring up at him as he shoved up on his arms, his head thrown back, his body one long, solid, beautiful curve of muscle. His groan was muffled, but not very quiet.
Molly didn’t care. Watching him come apart… He was so beautiful.
His shoulders sagged and he caught himself before he landed on her too hard, lowering himself slowly, carefully. Then made everything even more perfect when he nuzzled his face against her throat, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
“Mmmm,” he hummed.
She smiled, stroking his back. “Mmmm, indeed.”
He stayed there for long minutes while the ceiling fan spun, gradually cooling their skin. Then he pulled out, every movement deliberate and gentle.
He flopped to his back with a low laugh. “Damn, woman. You done tired me out.”
She rolled to her side, caressing his chest again. Unable to stop touching him. “Good cardio.”
He snorted. Then sighed. “It’s dark outside now. I think they’ll be waiting for us so we can leave.”
They’d be going to Burke’s soon, taking Chelsea and Harper with them. They’d be shoved together like sardines in a can, but it would be easier to guard everyone all together and they’d taken enough advantage of Farrah’s hospitality.
“It’s gonna be noisy and crowded at Burke’s,” she murmured. “I’m glad we got this time for ourselves.”
“I think we more than earned it. Let me clean up, then the bathroom is yours.”
That had been the other advantage of choosing this guest room—the en suite bathroom. Nothing like sneaking to the bathroom after sex in someone else’s house.
Twenty minutes later, they left the bedroom wearing the clothes they’d first arrived in. Farrah had washed, dried, and folded them at some point during the day. There were still stains, but at least the clothes were no longer bloody.
Taking their sheets to the laundry room down the hall, Molly dumped them in the washer and started the cycle. Then, hand in hand, she and Gabe made their way to the kitchen.
Chelsea was sitting with Farrah, both sipping from coffee cups, both wearing ridiculous grins. “Hey, there, big sis,” Chelsea drawled. She nodded at Gabe. “And bonsoir to you, Chef Hebert. Hope y’all had a good ‘nap.’ ”
“We did, thank you,” Molly said with as much dignity as she could muster.
Chelsea chuckled and Harper looked up from the tablet on which she’d been playing. “What’s so funny?” her niece asked, eyes narrowing.
“Absolutely nothing,” Molly said firmly, then sat next to the child. “How you doing, kiddo?”
Harper shrugged, her eyes downcast. “Shit happens.”
Chelsea gasped, and it was Molly’s turn to chuckle. “So it does. But I don’t think your mama appreciates such language.”
“It was the best word for the situation,” Harper said in a way that was far too adult, then looked at Gabe, who still stood, looking uncertain. “Are you a cook?”
He coughed. “More or less. They call me ‘Chef,’ though.”
Harper shrugged again. “Chef, cook. What’s the difference?”
He slid into the chair across from her. “About four years of school. Are there any of those cookies left? They smelled so good.”
Harper nodded soberly and Molly missed her niece’s spark. Please let it come back. Please. “I’ll get you some,” Harper said. “Cookies for everyone.”
Chelsea looked like she’d argue, then shook her head. “Cookies for everyone,” she echoed. After her laughter at Molly’s expense, her sister looked drawn out and exhausted. Molly wished she’d make some more fun of them, just to see her smile.
Farrah got up with Harper, fixing them plates of the chicken they’d had for dinner while Harper slid a plate full of cookies to the table. The child waited silently until Gabe had tried one.
“Oh, this is good,” he said with a little moan that made Molly wish they were alone.
“On that note.” Farrah placed their dinner on the table, then pressed a small canister of balm into Molly’s hand. “For the beard burn,” she said in a stage whisper, patting Molly’s cheek. “It’s really red, hon.”
Chelsea started laughing again, and Farrah gave Molly a knowing wink before cocking her head to one side. “I hear a boat.”
Farrah walked to the back door, casually grabbing her rifle in a move that Harper missed, though Molly did not. But then her phone buzzed with a message from Burke.
Wake up, sleepyhead. Time to work. We’re 1 min out so b decent.
“It’s Burke,” Molly said, and Farrah relaxed, quietly placing her rifle by the door.
Chelsea stood and began wiping the crumbs from the table, but Farrah stayed her hand. “I’ll do it,” their hostess said with the warmest smile Molly might ever have seen. “You get Harper’s things together while I put Gabe and Molly’s dinner into plastic containers. I’ll clean the kitchen before I leave.”
Burke appeared in the doorway, studying Molly before giving her a quick glance that said that he knew what she and Gabe had been up to. She wanted to blush, to deny, to say something, but he just grinned at her. “You and Gabe look… rested.”
“They took a nap,” Harper told him soberly.
He smiled down at her. “Naps are good. Time to get going. We have places to go, people to see. Oh, and cookies to eat. Are those for me?”
“They are, Uncle Burke,” Harper said. “I made them all by myself.”
“Then we shall have ourselves a true feast on my boat.” He lifted Harper to his hip and kissed her cheek. “You ready, princess?”
Harper’s nod was grim. “Yes, sir. Aunt Molly, you’re gonna find who tried to hurt us, right?”
Molly brought Harper’s face close and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I promise.” Then she turned to their hostess. “Farrah, I don’t know how we’ll ever thank you.”
“Just stay safe and trust my André. He’ll do the right thing.”
“Of that we have no doubt.” Gabe extended a hand to Farrah, but she grabbed him for a hug before walking them to the dock.
“Be safe. Watch out for gators. I’ll be by the Choux soon for chocolate cake!” she called as the boat pulled away.
“I’m going to give her the freaking recipe,” Gabe muttered. “Such hospitality—and soft beds—cannot go unrewarded.”
Molly faced the darkness over the river with one of Burke’s rifles in her hand and a smile on her face.
Bayou Gauche, Louisiana
THURSDAY, JULY 28, 11:15 P.M.
“Have we become nocturnal?” Willa Mae asked when everyone was settled in Burke’s living room, including Antoine, who sat on the floor, his three laptops placed in a semicircle around him.
“Seems so, ma’am,” Burke said, sitting in his recliner.
They were seated much as they had been before—Gabe and Molly sitting with Cicely on the sofa, Willa Mae in “her” rocking chair, her knitting needles in motion. Xavier sat on the kitchen chair beside her, and Carlos and Manny were on the floor with the Xbox. Molly had her tablet, prepared to take notes.
Only André was missing, focused on the investigation into Mule’s murder.
Chelsea had taken Harper and Shoe into Burke’s bedroom, which he’d insisted they occupy until it was safe for them to go home. The two were watching a movie, Chelsea having given up on keeping Harper to a schedule. Harper was wired on sugar from the cookies. And far too grim and tense for an eight-year-old girl.
Gabe hoped the volume of the movie would keep Harper from overhearing anything they’d be discussing. “Thank you again for coming to help us today, Miss Willa Mae. It was nice having a lawyer we could trust.”
“Don’t you think another thing about it,” Willa Mae said. “It was the least I could do, since you’re helping Xavier and Cicely out of this mess that Xavier’s gotten himself into.”
Gabe blinked, but the slow grin on Xavier’s face said that this was welcome banter, so he turned to Burke. “What do we know?”
Burke motioned to Antoine. “You want to do the honors?”
Antoine looked up from his three laptop screens. “Houston PD has identified the man who killed Xavier’s home invader. He’s Tyson Whitley, who lives in Dallas, but he’s originally from New Orleans.”
“Connection,” Molly murmured.
Antoine nodded. “Exactly. He was arrested and charged for selling drugs to middle school students in the Eleventh Ward when he was eighteen. That was five years ago. Did four months of a one-year sentence before he was released for good behavior. He was brought in for questioning again a few years later, this time for selling drugs and weapons to a different group of kids in St. Bernard Parish. He claimed he was innocent, and he was never charged. There’s really nothing to indicate why Whitley was let go back then.”
“How did they ID him this time?” Carlos asked.
“Houston PD used facial recognition,” Antoine said. “Even though he wore a fake beard, he didn’t change his eyes and the software’s gotten good at just using eyes. When HPD arrested him, Whitley claimed that he was innocent and hadn’t ever been to Houston, but a gas station security camera has him in the city just thirty minutes after our mystery man breathed his last.”
“How do you know all—” Gabe cut off the question. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
Antoine grinned. “You learn quick, Hebert. So far, Whitley’s not talking, so we don’t know why he was there and what connection he has to either the man he killed or all our goings-on.”
“Hm,” Molly murmured. “Meth Guy, whose car was stolen this morning—the car the hoodie guy used and then left at the bayou scene—he was also in trouble with the law in New Orleans and walked away from a drug charge.”
“Good point,” Burke said. “Your”—he coughed—“nap did good things for your brain, Molly.”
She flipped him an unoffended bird. “I wonder if there’s a connection between Meth Guy and Tyson Whitley.”
“Could be,” Antoine said. “I’ll look into it. Mule is loosely connected to both George Haslet—that’s Meth Guy—and to Whitley through this case. But I’ll see if the two are directly connected. Hold on one second. Let me get back into HPD’s case file…” They waited in silence, then Antoine did a double take. “Huh. You’re right, Molly. I’m looking at Whitley’s cell phone records now. The number that called him just hours before he killed Xavier’s intruder was the same number that called Meth Guy, a few hours before Mule was murdered. So they might not be directly connected to each other, but they are connected through whoever called them.”
Yes, Gabe thought. A few more dots connected.
“Called it,” Molly told Burke, who nodded his respect.
Xavier leaned forward, excited. “Mule called them both?”
Antoine shook his head. “Nope. Not unless he used a different phone than the one he used to text Nicholas Tobin instructions to abduct Chelsea and Harper last night. I mean, it’s possible that Mule had multiple burners. I do. The big takeaway here is that the same person contacted both Whitley and Haslet.”
“What about the hit man?” Carlos asked. “Eckert?”
Antoine scowled. “I can’t get into that report. It’s not being kept in the same database as Haslet’s information. I’ve been trying to get in, to look at what they know, but I keep coming up against a brick wall. I will get through, but I’m not sure how long it’ll take.”
Molly tilted her head, frowning in confusion. “Wait. Let’s assume that whoever stole Meth Guy’s car and killed him was the same person who then drove to the bayou, dumped most of the woman’s remains, and then killed Mule.”
“Reasonable assumption,” Burke allowed. “So?”
“So,” Molly continued, “Mule is brass, so I’d think his case would be blocked. Why are you able to get into Meth Guy’s information, but not Eckert’s?”
Antoine touched his nose. “That is the one-million-dollar question. Although Burke won’t pay me a million to break into the case file.”
“I pay you enough,” Burke grunted.
“More than,” Antoine agreed. “But a man can dream, right?”
“Dream cheaper,” Burke said. “But Molly’s right. What’s Eckert got in his file that’s so damn secret?”
“Maybe not a what,” Molly said. “Maybe a who.”
“Lotsa maybes,” Willa Mae observed. “Do we know who that poor woman was? The one that ADA Cardozo knew but wasn’t gonna tell us?”
“Nope,” Antoine said. “If her identity is known, it hasn’t been recorded anywhere. Not that I can find.”
“So, Eckert the hit man and the female victim—who lied about being Nadia Hall’s sister and set Molly up to be injured in a house bombing—they have the same level of security?” Gabe asked.
Antoine shrugged. “Maybe. I haven’t even found a reference to her remains being found yet. It’s possible that it’s also being locked down.”
“Interesting,” Molly murmured. “What else?”
“I’ve found more info on your father’s hard drive, Gabe,” Antoine said. “I’ve had my artificial intelligence software piecing together all the fragments I found. The program guesses the letters and words in the gaps based on normal language patterns.”
Carlos perked up. “Like predictive text in reverse?”
“More like predictive text came from the software,” Manny said.
Antoine looked impressed. “Exactly right, Manny.”
Manny smiled smugly, and Carlos shot him a pointed glance. “How do you know this?” Carlos demanded.
“You’re not the only smart one in the family, pendejo,” Manny answered, avoiding Carlos’s punch.
“What did you find, Antoine?” Gabe asked, trying to be patient.
“Oh. The name of the doctor he was looking for, actually, but we figured it out already.”
“Did my dad say how he found Benson?” Gabe asked. “Did he find someone else who knew Nadia?”
“Actually, you were pretty close last night when you suggested checking into medications,” Antoine told him. “The night he found her body during Katrina, Rocky also found a medicine bottle with the name Jane Smith printed on the label as the recipient. The prescriber was from the same practice as Dr. Benson—his partner, Dr. Géraud Cousineau.”
“Nadia used a fake name with her ob-gyn,” Cicely said. “She was either ashamed that she was pregnant or scared of what would happen if someone found out. Like maybe the baby’s father?”
“Poor Nadia,” Molly said quietly. “She so wanted to believe the BS he was feeding her. She wanted a family.”
Gabe sighed, afraid to ask his next question. More afraid of the answer. “What happened to Dr. Cousineau?”
“He’s dead,” Antoine said gently. “Shot himself.”
Gabe swallowed. “Like my dad ‘shot himself’?”
Antoine shrugged again. “Maybe. It happened a few weeks after Katrina. The hospitals and morgues were filled. MEs were working around the clock. If an autopsy was done, I don’t imagine it was too thorough. Benson left the practice after Cousineau’s death. He left the city, in fact, like so many people did. He eventually came back once he retired. He’d lived in the house where he died for less than a year.”
Molly held up a finger. “Wait. April Frazier said that she gave Benson’s name to Nadia. How did she end up with Cousineau?”
“He might not have had any appointments,” Cicely said. “If she was in a hurry, they might have set her up with the other partner. Or she might have seen them both. It’s often encouraged for pregnant women to have at least one appointment with all of the practice’s doctors, in case her own isn’t available for the birth.”
“Okay,” Molly said, frowning. “I guess I was reacting to the fact that Dr. Benson was murdered when he might not have even known Nadia. I guess it doesn’t matter, but I’d like to know.”
“What I’d like to know,” Gabe pressed, “was how Benson’s killer knew that my dad was looking for him. You said that Dad started calling him a month before his death, up until the day Benson died. But how did their killer know that they were talking? Dad was careful. They could have bugged Dad’s phone, but then they would have known a lot more and sooner. Like where Xavier was.”
“Yeah,” Xavier said. “Why’d they wait six weeks after killing Rocky to come after me?”
Carlos frowned, very serious now. “I wondered the same thing. Seems like once they knew about X, they’d have come after him ASAP. Sorry, Mrs. M,” he added when Cicely recoiled.
“Not your fault, Carlos,” she assured him. “It’s just hard to think that someone was stalking my son. Antoine, do you know why they picked Monday to come after him?”
Antoine tilted his hand back and forth. “I can guess. The documents I put through AI were not only fragmented, but they were also encrypted. I had to find the key. That made it more difficult and took a while. And I know what I’m doing.”
“You said that whoever killed Rocky knew how to wipe his hard drive,” Molly said.
Antoine shrugged. “It’s a lot easier to destroy a drive than to put one back together. If Rocky’s killer didn’t have an IT guy as good as me, it could have taken them that long to sift through his hard drive and unencrypt everything. Six weeks seems like a long time, but it’s possible it could have taken that long.”
“What about how they knew my dad was searching for Benson?” Gabe insisted.
“I don’t know yet,” Antoine said.
“Paul Lott,” Molly said thoughtfully. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. He’s the puzzle piece that we haven’t known where to put, but now I think we do. I’m betting that somehow Lott knew Rocky’s personal business. He knew about Xavier because Rocky set up a trust. He didn’t know where Xavier lived, only that he had a UPS box in Baton Rouge. He was in contact with Mule the night that Rocky was killed. What if Paul Lott knew what Rocky was up to? What your dad was investigating?”
Gabe considered it. “I don’t think that Dad would have told him. He didn’t trust him completely. Not enough to give him Xavier’s home address, anyway, or his personal cell number. Just Xavier’s burner.”
Molly grabbed his hand and held it. “I didn’t say your father confided in him, Gabe.”
Gabe frowned. “You think Lott was spying on my father?”
“I think we need to follow the money where Lott is concerned,” Molly said. “If he knew that Rocky was giving Xavier an inheritance, he knew that Xavier was important. If nothing else, maybe he thought the same thing that you did initially—that your dad was Xavier’s biological father. Maybe he figured he could blackmail your father. We need to know more about Mr. Lott.”
Burke was nodding. “You’re right, Molly. It’s one of the loose ends that doesn’t seem to fit anywhere else. Antoine? Can you get into Lott’s bank records? See if there were any large deposits recently?”
Antoine was already tapping frenetically on his keyboard. “It might take a while, but I’m on it. That was all I had, by the way.”
Burke rubbed his hands down his face wearily. “Then are we done?”
“No,” Xavier said. “We were busy today, too. Nothing came of it—”
“So far,” Carlos interrupted.
“So far,” Xavier allowed. “We wanted to follow up on Madame Fluffy, Nadia’s dog.”
Molly sat up straighter. “You called vets?”
“We did,” Xavier said, wincing a little because Burke was glowering.
“Without clearing it with me?” Burke thundered, then snapped his mouth closed, throwing a glance toward the bedroom where Chelsea and Harper were watching a movie. He exhaled through his nose, visibly trying to rein in his temper. “What did you do? And who is ‘we’?”
“We included me,” Cicely said sharply. “So, please watch your tone, Mr. Broussard.”
Burke just shook his head, still angry. “What did you do, Xavier?” he asked more quietly.
“We got a list of veterinarians and called them,” Xavier said nervously.
“We used Manny’s phone,” Carlos added, his chin lifted defiantly. “It’s a burner, too, so no one can trace it to us.”
“And we spoofed the number we called from, so the cops couldn’t see a pattern,” Manny said. “We’d used my phone to text with the guy posing as Paul Lott, so I didn’t want that out there.”
“We said we owned an Afghan hound,” Xavier explained. “We said we’d gotten her as a puppy, but didn’t know the breeder’s name. Just the puppy’s mama’s name. Madame Fluffy.”
Cicely’s chin was also lifted. “We said that our Afghan had died recently of a hereditary condition and wanted to let the breeder know in case she’d bred that dog again—so that the other dog owners could be warned. We figured that if a vet recognized the dog’s name, they’d know that its owner wasn’t a breeder, but maybe they’d get back with us anyway. Breeders sell their older dogs sometimes. It was a decent story. Most of the vets said that they had no records of the dog or that they weren’t around back then. But a few said they’d get back to us.”
“We each made a few calls,” Manny finished. “So that if anyone tried to connect the dots, the vets wouldn’t have been able to agree on a single voice.”
“It’s what I would have done, Burke,” Molly said softly, then turned to Cicely and the others. “But what happens when someone calls you back? You spoofed the number. When they call back, it’ll go to someone else’s phone.”
“Only three people said they’d call us,” Xavier said. “We gave two of them Molly’s burner number…” He trailed off, wincing. “And we gave the third one Burke’s burner number.”
Molly smiled. “Exactly what I would have done.” She gave Burke a pointed glance. “And what you would have done, too.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Burke grumbled. “Next time give me some warning. I could have given you fresh burners. But…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It was good thinking. Thank you. And I’m sorry I shouted, Cicely.”
“Apology accepted,” Cicely said. “We called nearly every veterinarian in New Orleans and all the surrounding neighborhoods. I suppose all we have to do now is wait.”
“And check Xavier’s UPS box in Baton Rouge,” Willa Mae said. “At one point, you, Burke, thought Lott or one of the others might have sent a booby-trapped package to that box, hoping to track Xavier. I think any investigation into what Paul Lott did or did not know has to include that box.”
“You’re right,” Burke said. “I let that ball drop. I’ll drive out to Baton Rouge tomorrow morning, first thing. Xavier, you said you had the key?”
Xavier started to get up. “Yeah. I can get it for you now.”
Burke waved him to sit back down. “In the morning is soon enough. I’ll open your box, but if there are any packages larger than the box holds, you might have to retrieve them personally or sign something that says I can. We’ll see what’s there first before I make any requests of the clerk who works there. Best to keep it low-key for now. Molly, can you recap?”
Molly scrolled back through the notes on her tablet. “Tyson Whitley, who killed Xavier’s intruder, and George Haslet, a.k.a. Meth Guy, were both called from the same phone, both hours before Whitley killed a John Doe and Haslet was killed for his car. This was a separate number than the one Mule used to contact Tobin. Antoine is checking connections. Both doctors at Nadia’s practice are dead. Paul Lott may have been spying on Rocky and might have given Mule a heads-up on Xavier’s whereabouts. Antoine is checking.”
“Antoine is busy,” Antoine muttered.
“You love it,” Molly said, and Antoine flashed her a smile. “The female victim from this morning—who gave a fake name and posed as Nadia Hall’s sister—has been identified by the ADA, but if it has been recorded somewhere, it’s behind the same wall as Eckert’s case files, which even André can’t access. Which could mean that a high-profile person or persons are involved. Or the Feds,” she added. “André said they were on the case, too. Also, Xavier et al. called New Orleans veterinarians seeking the owner of Madame Fluffy. And…” She paused dramatically. “Burke apologized for losing his temper.”
Burke sneered, but it was followed by a rueful smile. “That is true. And tomorrow I go to Baton Rouge to check Xavier’s box.” He closed the recliner and stretched his arms toward the ceiling. “Time for bed. Molly, you’re in with Chelsea and Harper in my room. It’ll be a squeeze for all three of you in the bed, but I expect you won’t want Harper that far out of your sight anyway.”
“You expect correctly,” Molly said, a shudder shaking her.
“Antoine? You staying or going?” Burke asked.
“Staying,” Antoine said, not looking up from his laptops. “I’ll be up most of the night. I’ll crash on the couch if I need to catch a nap. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Gabe,” Burke said, “I’ve got two inflatable mattresses that I can set up in my office. I snore, so if that bothers you, there’s an extra twin bed in the room Xavier, Carlos, and Manny are sharing.”
“I got dibs on the bottom bunk,” Carlos said defensively.
Xavier rolled his eyes. “He’ll break the damn ladder to the top bunk, Carlos. You’re shorter. And younger. You should climb, not him.”
Gabe laughed. “Thank you, Xavier, even though I think you just called me old. It’s okay, Carlos. I won’t steal your spot. Burke, I can sleep through snoring, but I’m too wired to sleep for a while. Molly and I just woke up a few hours ago.” He rose and offered a hand to Cicely first, then Willa Mae, then to Molly. “Good night, everyone. Molly, coffee?”
She smiled up at him. “That sounds good.”
“Antoine, you want some?” Gabe asked.
“Please.” Antoine glanced up hopefully. “And anything you can cook. I’m starving.”
“So am I,” Carlos said.
“Me, too,” Manny said.
Gabe laughed again. “I guess I’m cooking a midnight snack. Let me check what’s in the fridge.”
