by Nancy Gideon
He brought her hand to his lips. “No. You don’t.”
“What are we going to do, Max?”
“Tonight, we sleep. Tomorrow we talk with those it concerns. When we have a consensus, we act. And we put an end to those who threaten us and the future of those we protect.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Enter.”
Byron Atcliff looked up from a check of his morning calendar and knew from Charlotte Caissie’s wide-planted stance and stony stare it was over. He wasted no time with denials or apologies. She’d accept neither.
“So,” he began, expression emotionless as if waiting for her report, “what happens now?”
Consequences weren’t on the table, not while the need for answers razored through her. Her tone slashed, a straight edge to the throat without mercy. “Did you kill him?”
Atcliff flinched at her eviscerating demand but didn’t balk. “I knew it had to be done to protect all of us, especially you. Brady arranged it. He wanted to take you out, too, but I wouldn’t allow it. You were the only true innocent in the whole mess.”
That vague admission failed to soften her features. “Why?”
“You, Lottie.” She took that punch of truth without flinching. “He wanted to live up to what he saw in your eyes when you looked at him. He was no hero. He was in as deep as I was, but when your mother left you with him, she made him promise to become what you believed him to be. He’d tried taking a stand once before. It didn’t end well.”
“With Legere kidnapping me and Mary Kate.” Her firmly set mouth twitched, but the hollow-point stare didn’t flicker.
“He was a different man after that.” His sad sigh of regret rolled through shoulders that had carried the entire department without the slightest bend. “I tried to protect you when he started to fall apart. You didn’t deserve it. He was always so proud of you.”
Dark eyes flashed. “I don’t need you to tell me that. And your sad stories don’t make you into any less of a criminal. You betrayed him and me, and everything we devoted our lives to.”
“I did.” He leaned back in his chair, calm in his acceptance of her knowledge.
“For what?” Compressed fury shuddered through her tense form. Fingers curled into palms to control the urge to shred him the way his actions had his decency. “What was your price?”
Her demand fired with unerring accuracy. He flinched upon impact. “I had a family, too, Charlotte. I had plans for our future. And I wasn’t about to let a conscience-ridden alcoholic rip that away from me.” He took a deep breath and expelled it angrily in the face of her shock and quickly hidden pain. “Someone had to take care of you and this house. He couldn’t. He didn’t. He was no hero.”
“And you are?” Her emotional demand hung between them.
Finally, he broke the tense standoff. “Yes, I am. I did what needed to be done for our city, for its survival.”
“By dealing with criminals. By allowing corruption and padding your pockets from it. Is that how the press will see you? How the courts will see you?” She gestured behind her. “How those men and women out there will see you? As a hero, just doing what had to be done?”
He inhaled, letting it out in a weary huff. “How can you make that argument, Lottie, considering what you and your partner married and the creatures you defend? You think they’d see either of you any differently than they’d see me?”
Cee Cee winced as those stinging pellets of emotional buckshot peppered her stance. But she stayed strong for all those she defended. “I have faith in our system.”
Atcliff studied her for a long moment then shook his head. “What good will it do if all their trusted defenders fall? Is it better they know the truth or continue to believe in the law? How would exposing my deeds and undercutting all my genuine accomplishments serve them?”
She fell silent, considering his arguments before stating, “You wasted that argument on Brady. I couldn’t accept it then, and I won’t now.”
He knew her well enough to know she’d stand by her answer, so he circumvented it with his own solution.
“I’ll put in for early retirement. I’ll start the paperwork today. I have some long overdue vacation time coming. I’ll take it immediately. A family emergency. I’ll also suggest fast-tracking your advancement. I’ll be out of the equation for good. This is not a bribe. It’s a solution that will protect everyone—our department, our city, and our loved ones. Is that something you can live with, Lottie?”
What he offered made a disagreeable amount of sense. The idea of him escaping justice brought acid to the back of her throat from his sucker punch to the gut. She swallowed it down.
“I don’t like lying and I don’t like playing games.” Her lips twisted into a grim parody of a smile. “But better you’re gone than to have to pretend. And in case I befall some convenient accident, I’ve already taken steps to protect my information. You don’t want to become Karen Crawford’s next interview.”
Atcliff chuckled. “I taught you well.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “you did.”
– – –
Babineau fell in step as soon as Cee Cee strode from the office. Cued by her expression, he bit back his questions until they hit water-pooled pavement swept clear of the previous night’s debris. If only her conscience could be as easily cleansed.
“You look like you want to hit someone,” Babs observed conversationally. “I’d offer to take one for the team, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t get up again.”
When she didn’t answer, he followed her long-legged strides up the block, jogging across rush hour traffic to duck through huge iron gates, where they entered the quiet paths winding through St. Louis No.1. His brows lifted when she finally stopped in front of the Legere family’s ostentatious monument. She bent to remove a wilted bouquet laid before Marie Savorie’s modest plaque. Savorie, the family name. Savoie the one Jimmy had given Max to protect him from it.
Gardenias and Lilies of the Valley. Had Genevieve left them for her sister as she had once before? Death made for strange bedfellows of betrayal and regret. Cee Cee turned to sit on one of the concrete ledges as Max often had when seeking guidance, then slowly, emotionlessly, she relayed the exchange between her and Atcliff. Alain’s response summed it up neatly.
“Son-of-a-bitch.” He dropped down on the other ledge. “What now?”
“I don’t know, Babs.” She rubbed eyes that burned with the need for tears. “All I have is his word he’ll follow through and not try to screw me.”
“What’s that worth?” His question slashed to the heart.
“’bout as much as his loyalty to my father.” Angrily, she cast the dead flowers aside as she should have his promises.
“He’ll bring us all down with him—our families, friends, this whole city. He’s only out to save himself.”
Cee Cee closed her eyes, losing herself to the memory of the three of them in the front seat of the old squad car, her father at the wheel, his partner taking the lid off his coffee and tossing the top up onto the dash while she sat happily between them as they cruised the dark, narrow streets. Her streets. Byron Atcliff’s smile as he looked from the scribbled schoolwork on his lap to beam at her with pride. He was right, damn him. He’d been her father figure, he and Devlin Dovion, while her own drown himself in a bottle of loss and shame.
Babineau said nothing.
She knew her partner. The cruel joke of Warren Brady’s death snatching away the chance for cleansing justice had hit Babineau hard. Hell, it damned near crippled both of their beliefs in the system. But they’d sucked it up as they always did so they could continue to make that difference the citizens of New Orleans depended upon. People like DeShawn Collette and Kinesha Jones. They needed to know someone stood for them and their right to pursue their dreams. She’d wanted to be that someone ever since viewing those dark, busy, sometimes deadly streets of the city she loved between symbols of that admired justice.
Figureheads had so
metimes failed her, as had justice, but the city, so filled with sin and corruption, still held her heart and soul and loyalty. And she couldn’t let it down.
When they returned to the precinct, she announced her plan to visit the Coulette family personally with the news the immediate threat was gone. DeShawn could return to his dreams.
Babineau waited until Charlotte’s bright orange Camaro wheeled away. He started to reenter the district station house but couldn’t force himself to cross its threshold. Not until he did something to equalize the dangerous tip of justice toward those who abused it. Maybe that would quiet the rage howling through his soul.
“Not again. They can’t get away with it again.”
Before reason could best his fury, Babineau pulled out his burner phone. Heart hammering, conscience screaming just as loud, he fought the urge to disconnect. And then it was too late.
“Carmen Blutafino. Who’s this? How’d you get this number?”
Voice low, barely a whisper, Detective Alain Babineau advised, “Shut up and listen.”
– – –
Clock ticking, Byron Atcliff pushed through all the necessary paperwork. The emergency was real, but the circumstances invented. Citing the need for an urgent visit to his bedridden mother-in-law along with professional and personal stresses from the Brady case, his two-week vacation officially began at the end of shift. He’d surprised his family with last minute and horrendously expensive tickets to California so his daughter could check out several college choices, then while their children visited with her parents, he and his wife would enjoy the Napa Valley tour she’d always dreamed of. They’d already flown out from Louis Armstrong. He’d follow in the morning. After he’d concluded other matters.
One of those matters demanded attention after he clocked out, leaving his desk, his workload and finally his aspirations . . . for the moment.
He’d gotten little resistance as he floated his promotion request for Charlotte Caissie. Powers That Be agreed with his assessment of her as a qualified team player who would quiet the clamor for gender equality in the higher ranks. Having her off the streets and away from direct investigations would give him leeway to continue his plans, with minor adjustments.
Detective Alain Babineau was a problem. He’d been impossible to shake from the Brady investigation for reasons that could bite Atcliff in the ass. Precipitating his request for a meet with someone who could make that problem go away.
He’d bury all his dirty laundry while Charlotte headed toward the promotion that would bind her with obligation. Then, when he returned to work, instead of putting in for retirement, he’d be sitting back, fat, rested and sassy in his own desk chair, two fewer problems to worry about. He had it on good authority that another would disappear tonight.
Tomorrow was going to be a bright new day.
After putting his final stamp on the Brady matter with a shake of his head and a muttered, “Warren, you greedy fool,” Atcliff tidied his desk and turned out his light, anxious for the meeting to come. Then he could set his troubles aside and enjoy his family. Something Tommy Caissie should have done.
An expensive black car with impenetrable windows was discretely waiting for him on a shadowed side street. He stepped into the large backseat and settled next to a smiling Carmen Blutafino who took up most of the space with his double-breasted, maroon-clad bulk. Two of the thug’s men filled the front seat with expensively garbed muscle.
As the vehicle glided away from the curb, Manny got to business. “You look smug, Byron, for someone desperate enough to ask me for a date.”
“There’s a matter that needs your usual finesse.”
A chuckle. “If it’s the ever-bothersome Detective Cassie, I’ll have to decline. I’ve no desire to tangle with her beast of a husband or any of his particularly brutal companions.”
“Not her,” Atcliff specified rather tightly. “Her partner.”
“Detective Babineau? Almost as satisfying after his little charade under my nose. What’s he done to twist your panties in a knot?”
“The Brady matter. He’s not going to let it go so, unfortunately, I’ll have to let him go.”
Carmen nodded. “Sometimes you gotta cut ties to even the most beneficial associations once they become a liability. We can’t afford to be sentimental in our business. It’s not personal. Trust. That’s the only thing that holds relationships together.” A pause then a regretful sigh. “You really shouldn’t have stolen my file from Savoie’s office, Byron.”
As Blutafino turned away to look out the side window, the passenger in front leveled his silenced gun over the seat back.
A soft blatt of sound cut off Atcliff’s surprised gasp as Manny concluded, “Just business.”
– – –
The Terriots met mid-morning, before Cheveux du Chien opened for business, gathering at a cluster of tables with their mates, all but Turow and Sylvia, and Kendra who’d been under the weather, to get out and do something normal together as a family. Jacques supplied a hardy brunch of eggs, boudin, and grits with chicory coffee strong enough to permanently affix eyes wide.
Kip Terriot had come alone, supporting Ophelia’s decision to spend time with the children at the Babineau’s to escape the eyes of the press. Though no one here blamed her, she’d felt her absence would free up conversation. How he loved her for that thoughtful sacrifice. When had belonging to their family begun to exact such a devastating cost?
The news of Lee’s death by his own cowardly hand had put the young prince’s heart and mind at odds. Lee had been weak, easily led toward darkness, but there were his mate and daughters to consider. He’d already channeled funds from the windfall they’d recovered into an account that would see them comfortably taken care of, but that didn’t ease the heaviness of conscience. He still brooded over it as a female voice intruded.
“Need something stronger than that coffee?”
Kip glanced up at the curvaceous waitress with dyed blonde dreads who’d just begun her early shift to see to their group. He smiled politely out of habit, saying, “No. Thank you,” as he leaned back so she could reach across him to gather empty plates and cups. When her tray wobbled dangerously from the added weight, he provided a supportive hand. Their eyes met. And held.
She looked away first with a rushed, “Thanks,” then using both hands, stabilized her burden and headed back to the bar. Kip stared after her. Frowning slightly, he turned attention back to the table, not sure what stirred the tightness in his gut. Then his gaze brushed Mia Guedry.
Features bleached of color, she stared away from their group, wide dark eyes following the same path his had. Colin, who was in an animated discussion with Cale, didn’t notice until her fingers bit into his thigh.
“Hey. Hey! You okay?”
She gave no sign of having heard him, her respirations pumping fast and shallow.
“Mia?” Colin caught her as she swayed.
By then, Kip was out of his chair, circling to crouch next to hers. Taking up her other cold hand, he squeezed tight to command her attention.
“You recognized her, too.”
Her focus gathered at that claim, breaths deepening. “I don’t know. Something . . . something about her.”
“She’s favoring her arm,” Kip stated. “My little brother put a bullet into the same one of our Baton Rouge intruder. We made eye contact. That look. I’ll never forget it.”
Mia trembled, but her voice was strong. “It’s her, isn’t it? She’s the one who pretended to be me.”
Colin’s expression hardened with the quiet purpose it always assumed before battle. He spoke Mia’s name to bring her gaze up to his. “Are you sure?” At her brief nod, he turned to Kip. “Stay with her.”
Kip gripped his arm. “Don’t underestimate her.”
A fierce flash of teeth. “Not likely.”
Jacques LaRoche was coming out of the stock room as Colin strode rapidly up to the bar. Noting his lowered brows, the club owner looked to the
unattended tables and back. “Sorry. I was just looking for her. Is there something I can get you?”
“Where is she?”
“Frannie?” Jacques scowled at the curt tone, having no great love for the unpredictable Terriot. “She was just here. Thought she went into the back.”
Colin vaulted the bar, striding past the startled owner without a glance.
Jacques shook off his surprise, temper surging along with concern for his employee. He stalked after the huge trespasser, pausing as Terriot did, inside the unoccupied storage room, following his focus to the delivery door leading out into the side alley. It was ajar. “What the—?”
Colin sprinted to it, stepping outside to survey the area. Head tipping, he took in the scents around him. Nothing. Too late. She was gone. Turning back, his features formidable, he demanded, “Where did she go?”
Jacques shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe an emergency.”
Colin’s long strides brought them face-to-face in an instant. “Is there a cold cellar underneath the building?” Ignoring the puzzled look, the big Terriot followed Jacques’ gesture to a barely noticeable door.
“We keep the good stuff down there. I’ll have to get the key.” The bar owner broke off, alarm spiking when he saw the broken hasp. He followed Colin down the narrow flight of stairs to a small, windowless room, shivering at the chill as he took quick stock of the inventory. The wine and liquor shelves seemed undisturbed. Colin paid them no mind, striding purposefully to a large crate that had contained CdC’s holiday shipment of local ales. The hasp securing its contents was open, a heavy padlock lay beside it.
Colin lifted the lid, chest tightening. This was where his mate’s consciousness had been imprisoned in darkness and fear inside a stranger’s body while whoever that waitress bitch really was walked about in hers. In this small, dank space right under their very noses.
“What the hell is going on?”
He faced LaRoche, the other male taking a quick step back at the sight of his features. “What do you know about her?”