The Night He Died

by Stacy Green

  I spring the lock and push the door open.

  She jumps and then glares at me in the mirror. “I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

  I step to the side to make sure she sees my face, keeping my hand behind my back. Can she read my expression the way I can read hers? Shock of recognition, sprinkled with anger and doused with fear.

  “Annabeth talks about you all the time.”

  I smile at the poorly veiled threat. She clearly doesn’t understand who she’s dealing with. I’ve already lived years longer than I should have. I have nothing to lose.

  I step until we’re nose to nose.

  She sneers, blowing cigarette breath in my face as though it will intimidate me.

  Does she think I won’t do anything because I work here? Or that she’s getting out of this restroom instead of me?

  She’s leaning against the sink, hand inching toward her bag. “You know I could really use her right now. I’m short on fucked-up girls.”

  I hit her with 50,000 volts, and she dances like a rag doll. I grab her short hair and slam her face onto the floor. Blood drips from her nose, and she’s out.

  She’s heavier than she looks, but I manage to drag her into the second stall and dump her on the toilet.

  No way to lock the door from the outside, but hopefully she’ll be passed out for a few hours. I grab the pen and a stick of gum from my uniform pocket.

  A paper towel will have to do.

  I write carefully so I don’t rip the cheap, brown paper. Split the gum into two pieces and stick up the sign.

  Out of order.

  Fucking right, bitch.

  I feel her bag; there it is. Hopefully it’s the same gun she used to shoot Cage.

  Ganjoo’s out of his office, talking to the other waitress. I hand him my uniform on my way out and call Cage.

  “I need to see you right now.”

  41

  Dani didn’t say a word to Cage. She’d hugged Emma close, her hands shaking, and thanked Remy and Annabeth for taking good care of her. Then she walked out and left without saying a word.

  Even Annabeth had been speechless.

  Cage ran after her to explain what happened. Dani buckled Emma into her car seat and then rounded on him with a frightening look in her eyes.

  “I will put up with a lot.” Her deadly calm voice sent chills over him. “Late nights and getting obsessed with cases—even after you almost die from it. Your note this morning said you went to therapy and then planned to check in with Rogers. You lied.”

  “Dee, I’m sorry—”

  “Stop talking. You want to find who did this to you, and you’re too bullheaded to let every other cop in the city handle it. I can deal with that, because that’s who you are. But telling me to stay home and wait when my child is terrified because of someone lurking outside—after we’ve all been threatened by whoever shot you and beat up Dr. Hughes is not something I can accept.”

  “I was trying to keep you safe,” Cage said. “I didn’t know what I’d walk into or if the person was headed to our house.”

  “I understand, but how would you feel if I told you to stay home and wait while I took care of it?”

  He didn’t know what to say.

  Dani drew a shuddering breath. “I never left your side, never gave up hope even when the surgeons suggested making arrangements. I had four days to imagine life without you. Four days of lying to that little girl when she asked why she couldn’t see Daddy if he was sick so she could make him better. Four days of wondering how I would explain your dying and how I’d raise her by myself.”

  “Dee, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think—”

  “No, you didn’t. I just got you back, and you’re already ignoring the doctor’s orders. Then I hear Emma might be … And you expect me to stay home?”

  Cage blinked back tears. “I’m not myself.”

  “At least you’re finally coming to terms with that. You’ve been through extreme trauma, and instead of getting help, you’re doing what you want to do. Did you ever stop to think that shoving what happened aside might keep you from being able to do your job? What happens the next time you have a gun pulled on you?”

  She shook her head. “You think you’ll compartmentalize, but this is different from anything else you’ve experienced. You need to get help before something terrible happens.”

  “I died.”

  She trembled. “I know. Twice.”

  “Ginger Hughes said I was in danger the first time I met her. She told me more than once. And when I died …” His voice seemed to echo inside his head. “I went down a tunnel and into a light. Lana was there, she told me to go back. Then I saw Mom, and she said the same thing. I didn’t want to, and I begged someone to help me. Then I was with Ginger Hughes. She was sitting up in bed like I’d woke her. She made me go back.”

  Tears ran down Dani’s face. “I’m glad she did.”

  “I saw myself on the table, Dee. Blood everywhere and the surgeons freaking out.”

  Dani held out her arms and Cage fell into them, pressing his face to the top of her head. “I didn’t want to think it was real. Then I found out Ginger told Bonin I had on my Ole Miss shirt with the peeled off logo.”

  She pulled away and stared at him. “You died. And you came back. And now you know something’s waiting for us all. That’s a good thing.”

  “I don’t know how to deal with it.”

  “Be grateful. Use your second chance to do the things you put off. Be happy.”

  “I promise I’ll get better. Go to therapy.”

  “But you can’t stop working this case.” She sighed. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. Just promise me no more risks.”

  He kissed her nose. “Scout’s honor.”

  She choked out a laugh. “You weren’t a Boy Scout, jackass.”

  Dani slept beside him now. Makeup sex was awesome, but fatigue made him too exhausted to sleep.

  He slipped out of bed and nearly sat back down. How could his legs still be so damn weak? He slipped on his jeans and went to check on Emma. Still sound asleep.

  His wobbly legs made it to the couch.

  Annabeth had promised to try to find the exact address of the house on Esplanade, although he doubted Suzette still owned it. The PhoeniX was likely mobile, relying on technology to stay under the radar.

  He read Annabeth’s text anyway. Lily LaBauve still owns a house on Esplanade. Hope you didn’t pull any staples having sex.

  He’d check in with Bonin in the morning. She probably had Suzette’s address and hopefully had paid her a visit.

  The screen lit up. I need to see you right now.

  42

  LYRIC

  Cage is waiting in a back booth in the coffee shop a few blocks from his house in a nice area Uptown. He looks like he’s been wrung out and hung up to dry.

  “Coffee at this hour?” I sit across from him. “You’ll be up all night.”

  “I will be anyway.” He stares at me, still trying to figure out my brain. He should know better by now.

  “Annabeth told me what happened. Is Emma all right?”

  “She and Dani are sleeping. House is locked, alarm set, outside lights on. She knows how to shoot.”

  “Speaking of, did you bring the gloves?” I’d taken the streetcar uptown and had no intention of making extra stops. She might have come to and called someone.

  He slips on a pair of work gloves, eyes narrowed.

  “I guess those protect against fingerprints?”

  “Yes. What’s this about?”

  I set the bag on the table and push it over to him. “Be careful. It’s probably loaded.”

  Cage’s hands hovered over the bag. “Whose is this?”

  “Open it and see.”

  He peeks inside, and his face turns to stone. His hand shakes as he holds up the mask. “How did you get this?”

  “Tased her and knocked her out in the bathroom at 325. Left her in a stall, but she’s probably out by no
w.”

  “When?”

  “Less than an hour ago. I ran all the way from the bar to the streetcar stop.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police?”

  “You are the police.”

  He’s focused on the bag’s contents.

  “It’s a nine mil, right?” They’d recovered the single bullet casing at the scene. I want to ask if Cage kept it as a reminder, but I’m not Annabeth.

  “Yes.”

  He’s a statue, right down to the blankness in his eyes.

  I lean forward. “I wanted to tell you first because you deserve to decide where to go from here.”

  I’m a bad influence, but this bitch nearly killed him and threatened all of us, not to mention the trafficking. He’s earned the call.

  “Annabeth also told me about the LaBauve’s place on Esplanade. Notice the address on that state ID.”

  Cage trembled.

  “I know the house,” Lyric said. “It used to be a showpiece. It’s protected by oaks and massive hedges. Used to be a favorite spot on the historic homes tour. I have my theories on why it isn’t anymore.”

  “So do I.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Cage’s lack of emotion is frightening. I’m all for heading right into the lion’s den, but I don’t think he’s ready for it.

  “Let me go with you. I can back you up as well as any cop.”

  His lips twitch, but the smile never materializes. “I know you can. But I need time to think about this.”

  “You don’t have much. She’ll sound the alarm as soon as she’s awake.”

  “I know.”

  He’s not going to budge.

  I stand up. “I’m going to catch the streetcar.”

  “Thank you,” Cage says. “For everything. Take care of Annabeth.”

  His tone is final. I’d hoped Emma’s scare today would make him call in the cavalry so no mistakes were made. In the normal world, I’d trust his decision. But the Cage Foster I see now is far from his normal self.

  I grab his chin and force him to look at me. He doesn’t even flinch.

  “Do not do something stupid,” I say. “Don’t put your wife through hell again.”

  “I won’t. Go on home.”

  I want to punch him in his handsome face, but I head for the door, glancing back before I walk outside.

  Cage hasn’t moved.

  I move into the shadows and wait. A good liar can always spot another.

  BONIN

  Suzette Masse lived in a comfortable section of Metairie, where many of the houses were custom-built and less than twenty years old. Posh enough, but not enough character for Bonin, although a lawn larger than a postage stamp might make the lack of uniqueness worth it.

  “Then I’d have to take care of it.” She barely managed the responsibilities she already had.

  Motion triggered lights announced her arrival. The front door opened before her fingers reached the doorbell.

  Suzette looked nothing like the put-together Southern woman Bonin spoke with at Fatbacks.

  Her gray-blonde curls still had the finger-trails from running her hand through them. She wore no makeup, and the heavy bags under her eyes looked ready to pop.

  “Detective. I had a feeling I would see you again. Please, come inside.”

  Bonin rested her hand on her holstered weapon, keeping Suzette and the rest of the big entryway in her line of sight. Open floor plans had their advantages.

  “Would you like something to drink? I have fresh sweet tea in the kitchen.”

  “No, thank you.” Bonin pointed to the long dining table in the adjacent room. “This is fine.”

  Suzette sat down with a weary sigh. Bonin sat at the back end of the table, chair scooted back with a full view of the room. “Where’s Mr. Masse? I’d like to speak with him too.”

  “He’s in Florida with his girlfriend. We’re separated.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. How long has he been down there?”

  “Before Christmas. He has nothing to do with what’s going on.”

  Bonin set her phone on the table with the memo app open. “Do I have your permission to record this?”

  “Of course. I just want it to be over.”

  Cage said the sweet and soft act gave Suzette the perfect cover; Bonin wasn’t sure it was an act. Very few people could fake the sadness in her eyes.

  “Layla isn’t at fault here.”

  “She shot my partner. He almost died.”

  Suzette shook her head. “She didn’t. I should have told you at Fatbacks, but my son has no idea what’s going on. He’s been so upset since the separation and now taking care of my mother that I didn’t want to pile more on him.”

  “Your mother’s still alive?”

  “She’s bedbound and has memory issues, but she’s still kicking.”

  “I remember your father’s funeral parade.”

  Suzette smiled. “Always the showman. Had to have the biggest and best. My son left grad school to take care of her and help with the business. He has a brilliant mind.”

  “We have an eyewitness placing Layla at the scene.”

  “That’s impossible. She was right here with me, hiding.”

  “From the investigation into Masen Malone’s murder? Or the disappearance of her roommate, Trish Millwood?”

  “You have it wrong. Layla is a good person. She’s been dealt a lousy deck, and I’ve always tried to protect her. She spent half her childhood living with us because her mother couldn’t get off drugs.”

  “You’re not her mother?” Bonin asked.

  “No, she’s my niece, but I love her like my own.”

  “Then why pull her into running an illegal brothel that likely traffics in minors?”

  Suzette’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know anything about this place until Layla came to me for help a few weeks ago. This is all her mother’s doing. Layla has always wanted to feel loved by her, as any child would. My sister is incapable of giving it. Sober or not, she’s a narcissistic bitch. Excuse my language.”

  “No problem.” Bonin checked to make sure her phone still recorded.

  “She’s always been so jealous of Layla’s beauty—she looks so much like Mother. Her hair is the most beautiful shade of blonde, but she dyed it red to appease Deandra. Why my sister wanted that, I don’t know. Layla’s fake red hair makes her mother’s look dull. She’s at least back to her natural color.”

  Bonin’s throat went dry. “Does your sister happen to be the same Deandra who owns The Black Sheep?”

  “She wishes,” Suzette said. “I own The Black Sheep. It was my parents’ first restaurant. Mother planned to work until she died, but once her health declined, she decided to follow my father’s wishes and put all the restaurants in my name. He didn’t want Deandra getting her hands on them. She’d wind up losing the entire business to drugs.”

  “When was this?”

  Suzette sighed. “Twenty years ago, I think. Deandra finally got clean a few years back, and I agreed to let her run The Black Sheep as long as it didn’t decline. I don’t care how rusty her memory is, Mother’s heart would break if that bar closed down. It was her pride and joy. I remember her coming home with her inheritance money. She went straight up to Dad, kissed him, and said, ‘I got it, and we’re opening a bar with live music. And it will be called The Black Sheep.’ He laughed and said the name was perfect.”

  “Who’d she inherit the money from?” Bonin asked.

  Suzette held her gaze for a moment. “She told us it came from a distant relative. I didn’t find out the truth until years later. I assume you know?”

  “Philip Redmund’s daughter—your mother’s half-sister.”

  “Mother was livid when Dad told us. He knew she never would, and he wanted us to know our true lineage before he passed.”

  “Did that make you angry?”

  “For a while, but I forgave her.”

  “And you and your sister are owed a
piece of the Redmund-Hughes fortune.”

  “My family made their own fortune,” she said. “I’m proud of that. I have no interest in the Hughes family.”

  “Deandra feels differently?”

  “She believes she’s owed something. She’s always been that way. She’s never going to forgive me for selling the other bars instead of giving them to her. But neither of my parents wanted that. Deandra has her place in Mother’s will—she’ll be provided for. But she and I haven’t spoken since I told her we sold them.”

  “Yet you took Layla and her friend to see Carson Hughes. Did you know she planned to blackmail him?”

  “I promise you, I didn’t. I understand why now, but I had no idea. She said her friend needed to speak with Carson about a case. I had an appointment that day, and he filled in for Mr. Leighton. I let them tag along.”

  “Her friend Shana Sanders, who’s been missing for seven months?”

  “Hiding,” Suzette corrected her. “Masen was dangerous. He tried to kill her that night. I didn’t know any of that at the time—Layla took her to Deandra’s. For some reason Deandra allowed her to stay. And then Masen somehow found out about this PhoeniX place.”

  “Who killed him?” Bonin asked.

  “Layla said he committed suicide.”

  “He might have, but we found four Atlas doubloons worth a lot of money in his pocket. They belonged to Carson Hughes. Masen’s prints weren’t on them. But Layla’s were.”

  “They were her cry for help,” Suzette said. “She doesn’t see any way out from beneath her mother’s thumb. Deandra’s using again—painkillers. Layla says it’s worse than it’s ever been.”

  “Fentanyl?” Deandra must have supplied Masen, or vice versa.

  “I think so. You have to find Layla.”

  “You don’t know where she is?”

  Suzette wrung her hands together. “She showed up after her mother took Trish. That’s when she told me everything. She’s been here with me, but when she found out you questioned me at the bar, I had to tell Jared what was going on. He and Layla had a huge fight, and she left to keep me from getting in trouble.”

  “Do you have any idea where she’d go?”

  “Her cell phone is off. She may be at her mother’s, but if she is, Deandra’s likely keeping her prisoner.”