by Metsy Hingle
“It’s kind of small, but nice,” she commented, and wandered into the adjoining bathroom. “At least it’s clean.”
“Listen, Lily, about the bed…I tried to get two doubles, but the king was all they had.”
“I assumed as much,” she informed him as she walked over to the window. “At least we have a nice view.”
Michael joined her at the window and gazed down at Saint Charles Avenue, one of the city’s premier streets that boasted some of the most beautiful homes in New Orleans on one end, and a number of seedy joints at the other end. Double lanes of traffic moved in opposite directions while a streetcar lumbered down the center of the grassy boulevard. Already people were lining up with ladders, chairs, blankets and ice chests—ready to camp out and claim viewing space in anticipation of the Mardi Gras festivities that would begin in earnest the next morning. “The reservation clerk said that by sunrise tomorrow there’ll be so many people down there on the street, they’ll look like ants.”
“And one of them could be Adam.”
Michael felt that kick in his chest again, hated that she was in this situation because of him. “If he is out there, we’ll know and we’ll be prepared. After I check in with my dad to see how far away he is, I’ll make a few calls, see if I can find out if Webster’s in the city.”
She looked up at him. “How will you do that?”
“I’m going to see if I can reach my brother again. Travis works for the FBI. I’ll ask if he can tap a few of his sources and find out if there’s been any credit card activity, car rentals, anything that would indicate Webster’s in New Orleans.”
“You never mentioned anything about a brother before. In fact, I had the feeling it wasn’t easy for you asking your father for his help.”
Michael hesitated. “My dad and I have been estranged for a while.”
“How sad,” she said wistfully.
Michael shrugged. “I suppose.”
“You suppose?” Lily sighed. “I loved my grandmother. And I wouldn’t have traded those years I spent with her for anything. But still, sometimes I wondered what it would be like. You know, to be part of a normal family with a mother and father, maybe a brother or sister, and all of us living together. I mean, you would always have someone to talk to, to share things with. I bet your house was never lonely.”
Not lonely the way hers had been, Michael realized. “No, it wasn’t lonely. A little crazy sometimes, but not lonely.”
“Sounds nice.”
And it had been, Michael admitted. He couldn’t help feeling ashamed at how much he’d taken his own family life and upbringing for granted.
“You mentioned your father was a policeman. Is that why you became one?”
“I guess. My dad was a cop. His father, my grandfather, and his father before him were all cops. It’s what the Sullivans do, I guess. Sort of a tradition.”
“Your father must have been disappointed when you decided to quit the police force and go to work on the oil rigs.”
Uncomfortable with the lie he’d told her, he said, “Let’s say he wasn’t happy. It’s one of the reasons we haven’t spoken in so long.”
“What happened?”
“It’s a long story.”
“It seems to me we have time, since we’re stuck here at least until tomorrow,” she countered.
Michael walked away from the window and sat down in one of the chairs. “Remember that drug bust I told you about—the one that went wrong, where my partner was killed?”
“Yes,” she said as she came over and curled up on the love seat.
“It was my fault. I screwed up, and because of me Pete was killed.”
“Somehow I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true,” he insisted, because if he’d been a good cop and checked Giselle out, maybe Pete would still be alive. And the boys would still have their father, Janie would still have a husband.
“Michael?”
He shook off the memory. “Anyway there was an investigation. I was technically acquitted of any wrongdoing, but the blame was mine all the same. My actions…they were an embarrassment to my father. I brought dishonor to the Sullivan name, to him. So I thought it was better for everyone if I just left.”
“How could it be better to have someone you love cut you out of their life?” she asked. “To me that would be far worse than having the person die. At least when a person dies they’re not leaving you because they want to. I hope that when Timmy grows up I never do something that makes him so angry that he hates me like that.”
“I wasn’t angry with my father, and I certainly didn’t hate him. I did it to make things easy for him,” he defended.
“I doubt that he found being cut out of your life very easy.”
Was that what he’d done? Had he locked his father out of his life because he’d been angry with him, hated him? No, he’d done it because he’d hated himself, been angry with himself. And he’d been too ashamed to face his father and see the disappointment in his eyes.
“But then, what do I know about family dynamics? I’m just praying that I can get through this and that Timmy doesn’t have to pay for my mistakes.”
“You’re going to get through this,” he assured her. “And Timmy’s going to be just fine.”
“Speaking of Timmy, I’d like to call and talk to him.”
Michael stood. He unhooked the cell phone clip from his belt and handed it to her. “While you talk to Timmy, I’m going to go downstairs and make some calls.”
“But if you need the phone—”
“You keep it. I’ll use a pay phone. Besides, I want to check out the hotel security. Come lock the door behind me and put the dead bolt on. And whatever you do, don’t open the door for anyone but me.”
“I’m sorry, boss, but she gave them the slip,” Bernie reported to Webster after speaking with his colleagues in New Orleans. Nervous, he stood in front of Webster’s desk where the man was eating one of those disgusting raw fish dishes.
“Elisabeth is only a woman, and a not very bright one at that. And yet she’s managed to outwit two professionals. How is that?”
“She had help,” he offered. “There’s a guy with her, and from the description, it sounds like Sullivan.”
Adam snapped the chopstick in two and tossed it on the tray. “I am not happy about this, Bernie. Not happy at all. That’s twice now that you’ve let me down. First by assuring me that Sullivan was the man who could find Elisabeth for me, and now by having your men lose her. You know how much I dislike mistakes, Bernie.”
“I know, boss. And I’m sorry,” Bernie said as he stared at the broken chopstick. He couldn’t help imagining it as his neck. While he wanted to point out that Sullivan had found the dame, he didn’t. Webster had always been a strange dude to work for. He always looked polished and polite on the outside, but he was one cold mother. He’d seen the guy cut a man’s throat and leave him to bleed to death while he sat down and finished his dinner. He’d have sworn the man had ice in his veins—except when it came to that bitch he’d married. When it came to her, Webster got that crazed look in his eyes. And since the broad had taken off, he’d seen that look a lot more often than he liked. As much as he hated to admit it, the guy gave him the creeps.
“I’m not interested in your apologies, Bernie. I want Elisabeth found. And Sullivan.”
“My guys found the hotel where he was staying. There’s no sign of them there, and he hasn’t come back for his truck. It’s Mardi Gras down there, so they won’t have much luck getting a flight out of the city. But I’ve got people posted at the airport, train and bus stations just in case. We got the license plate number and description of the car they were in just in case they try to drive.”
“Did she have the kid with her?”
“No. Just her and Sullivan.”
“Elisabeth won’t leave without him. Find out where he is,” Adam told him.
“We’re trying, but—”
Adam slapped hi
s fist down on the desk. “No more excuses, Bernie. Find the boy, and you’ll find Elisabeth.”
“I’ll get my men on it.”
“No. I want you to go.”
“All right,” Bernie said, starting for the door.
“And Bernie?”
He stopped, turned. “Yeah, boss?”
“Don’t disappoint me again, because if you do, it will be the last time. Understand?”
“Yeah, boss,” Bernie said as he felt the sweat trickle down his spine. He pulled open the door.
“One moment, Bernie,” Adam said, and hit his intercom button. “Chantel, get the mayor of New Orleans on the phone for me.”
Bernie waited while his boss made small talk with someone in the mayor’s office. As he listened, he began to worry the man had lost it. Bernie couldn’t help thinking about when that fed had tried to hold him up for more money after delivering the disk with the info on the undercover agents. He’d watched Webster put a knife through the rat’s heart and actually smile. Then he’d been smart enough to think of feeding the man to the sharks. The guy had balls and brains, and knew how to tend to business. The only time he ever did anything really screwy and dumb was when it came to that broad he’d married.
No one had dared to say anything when he’d had that little blonde from the club made over so that she looked like that bitch wife of his. The way he figured it, if the man wanted to screw a woman that looked like his wife, that was his business. But, according to Kit, he’d worked the girl over real good last night and probably would have killed her if Otto hadn’t stopped him. She was in the hospital now in a coma and Kitty said she didn’t think the cops were buying the story about her being roughed up by some john.
“Thank you. I’d appreciate it if you’d have the mayor call me on my private cell phone,” Webster said. “It’s a personal matter that I need his help with.”
When Webster hung up the phone, Bernie said, “Boss, you don’t need to bring a politician in on this. I’ll handle Sullivan.”
Webster merely smiled at him. “I have no intention of calling in a favor to help you do your job.” He picked up the picture of his wife, stroked her face. “Have Sammy get the car ready. Tell him he and I are going to take a little trip.”
“Sure thing, boss. Where should I tell Sammy you’ll be going?” Bernie asked.
Webster smiled again, and though it shamed him to admit it, even to himself, Bernie couldn’t help feeling a little scared at that crazed look he saw in the other man’s eyes. He almost felt sorry for the poor dame married to the man. Almost, but not enough to put his neck on the line the way that idiot Sullivan had done.
“To the Mardi Gras.”
Michael exited the room, waited outside the door until he heard the lock shoot into place, then he headed down the hall. Instead of taking the elevator, he decided on the stairs. As he made his way down the stairwell, a check of each floor revealed the doors to each floor remained unlocked. When he exited the last door, he found himself in the lobby beside the elevator bank.
“Can I help you, sir?” a silver-haired gentleman in hotel attire positioned next to the bell captain’s stand asked.
“I was just checking things out. I figured that since there’s just the one elevator it’s liable to get pretty busy tomorrow. So I wanted to be sure I’d have access to the stairs if I need to get to my room.”
“Yes, sir. It’s a safety requirement that we keep the doors unlocked and the stairwells clear. But seeing how it’s Mardi Gras and the hotel’s full, we’ll be using the service elevator, too. ’Course, you’ll need to have one of the hotel employees to run you up in it,” he said, the man’s southern accent growing more pronounced.
“Thanks. That’s good to know.”
Michael walked over to the front desk. “Hi,” he said to the perky blonde on duty. “My wife and I checked in a little while ago and we were given special tags to wear to let us in and out of the hotel tomorrow. I was wondering if it’s possible to get a few extra tags for some friends who are going to try to meet us here for drinks.”
“Well, we usually limit access passes to the hotel guests. But I think we should be able to help you. How many tags will you need?”
“Let me get back to you after I find out for sure if our friends are going to be able to join us. I’d hate to take them if we don’t really need them.”
Well so much for the tightened security, he thought as he checked out the delivery entrance at the back of the hotel. While there seemed to be ample numbers of police out on the streets and near the hotel, all Webster or his men would need to do was claim to be meeting someone in the hotel’s restaurant or bar and they’d gain access to the hotel, he reasoned.
After another sweep of the downstairs area and all the points of entrance, Michael headed for the bank of pay phones he’d spied in the corridor leading to the rest rooms. Grateful that the hotel was an older one and that the phones had closed booths to provide some privacy, he stepped inside the old-fashioned cubicle. “Old booths but new phones,” he said aloud, and retrieved the prepaid telephone card he’d purchased.
He slid the card into the slot and punched in the number for his dad’s cell phone. “Dad, it’s Michael. I was just checking to see that everything’s all right.”
“Everything’s fine. Traffic is a bitch, and it’s probably going to take me a little longer than I expected to get there. But I’ll be there, son. Have you heard anything from your brother yet?”
“Not yet. I’m going to try his cell number again when I hang up. In the meantime, things are starting to get wild in the city. I’m hoping tomorrow morning when the celebration really gets underway, we’ll be able to lose ourselves in the crowds and get Timmy.”
“You sure you don’t want me to make a call to the police there?” his father offered.
“I thought about it, but Lily really freaked when I mentioned calling the police. She claims Webster has a lot of them on his payroll in Florida and that his influence stretches pretty far.”
“You know how I feel about dirty cops. But if the man’s got enough money to toss around a million-dollar reward to get her back, I guess it’s possible he could find one or two bad apples who’d be tempted,” he said.
“As it is, with Mardi Gras going on, it looks like every cop in the city is working one detail or another. That’s why I thought if Travis had a friend here in the Bureau, he or she might be a better bet. As arrogant a bastard as Webster is, I don’t think he’d be fool enough to try anything with an FBI agent.”
“Don’t count on it. If the man’s as obsessed with this woman as you claim, there’s no telling what he’ll do,” Big Mike said. “You just be careful.”
“I will, sir. And thank you.”
“Anytime.”
Lily paced the length of the hotel room, her stomach churning, as she waited for Michael to return. Was she doing the right thing? Was Michael’s plan going to work? She thought about Timmy, felt a pang as she recalled his disappointment when she’s explained that their trip had to be postponed. And poor Gertie. She knew she’d managed to frighten her. At the tap on the door, she jumped. “Who is it?”
“It’s Michael.”
She raced to the door, threw back the security bolt and pulled the door open. And she just barely managed to stop from throwing herself into his arms.
His eyes narrowed immediately. He shut the door. “What is it? Did something happen?”
“No. No, nothing happened. I’m just…” She heard her voice break, swallowed hard and turned away, afraid he’d see the tears in her eyes.
He came up behind her, turned her around. “What’s wrong?”
“I talked to Gertie and Timmy. I scared Gertie, and she doesn’t scare easily. And Timmy…” She swallowed again. “Michael, I want my baby.”
He pulled her into his arms, held her, stroked her back. “Just a few more hours. I promise.”
Telling herself she was being a ninny, she stepped back. She wiped her fac
e and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Maybe it’s watching all those people down there, seeing the way they seem to be getting all wound up for tomorrow. It almost seems like some kind of fever that keeps building and building.”
“I know what you mean. I guess that’s why they call it Mardi Gras madness. There’s an energy out there you can’t help but feel.”
“All I know is that waiting here like this…well, I guess it’s driving me a little bit crazy. Anyway, I’m sorry.”
“No need to be. I understand. I know not having Timmy with you isn’t easy. I talked to my dad. He’s only a few hours away. So just try to hang on a little longer. Okay?”
She nodded.
“Tell you what, why don’t we go get something to eat. Those sandwiches we had for lunch wore off a long time ago, and I’m starved. The hotel restaurant looks pretty good.”
The truth was, food was the last thing on her mind, Lily admitted as they left the room and took the elevator downstairs. And she’d been positive that she’d have a difficult time even forcing a bite of food past her lips. So it came as a surprise when she looked down at her plate—a plate that had been filled with pasta and shrimp in a rich creamy sauce that Michael had insisted she try—and found it nearly empty.
“Feeling better?” Michael asked.
“Yes,” she admitted, and took a sip of her wine. For a moment she was struck by how surreal it seemed for her to be sitting at a cozy table sharing dinner and wine with a handsome man as though it was a normal activity for her.
Her dinners with Adam had been so different. While the restaurants and foods varied, the ritual had always been the same. Hours of preparation to make herself beautiful for him, taking care that her makeup was perfect, that the dress she wore was sexy and his latest gift of jewelry displayed. A wave of revulsion went through her as she recalled how he’d liked to parade her through the restaurant, the thrill he seemed to elicit in seeing the way other men looked at her. She’d hated it. Hating knowing what people thought of her. Hated herself for not being grateful to have such a generous husband, for not being able to love him. But what she’d hated the most was when the gleam of lust, of possession would come into Adam’s eyes, and he’d take her home to their bed. Lily shuddered as thoughts of that last night came to mind.