No Safe Place

by JoAnn Ross

  His voice dropped off. Kate realized he was searching for some words that wouldn't hurt her. But she'd been a cop too long not to know exactly what path his mind had gone down.

  "Then he'd dispose of her body."

  "Plenty of places to do that," he said. "The bayou's a big place. And after a few days, between the gators, the snapping turtles, the fish, and the tides, there wouldn't be much body left to pop to the surface."

  She shivered. Closed her eyes. Drew in a deep breath, then recaptured her resolve.

  "Well, then, we're just going to have to find her alive."

  Kate knew their chances were slim. But she also knew that she'd never be able to live with herself if she didn't try.

  The one thing that very few TV shows ever got right was that being a cop wasn't about guns and car chases. What it mostly entailed was wearing out shoe leather.

  While Remy went off to interview the LeBlancs again, Nick and Kate returned to Téo Jannise's Voodoo shop, only to find it closed and shuttered.

  "Coincidence, do you think?" Kate asked as they looked past all the alligator heads and displays of beads in the front window, trying to see into the darkened store.

  "It could be. Then again, NOPD has always leaked like a sieve. Could be there are more copies of that autopsy floating around than the one Remy gave us."

  "But the key was the pregnancy. Who else could know Tara couldn't get pregnant?"

  "LeBlanc, for one. Since one reason his business does so well is that he's got a mandatory health-screening process for his girls. And, although I haven't tested it personally, I'm told that any girl who doesn't practice safe sex is out of there. No matter how popular she is."

  "So any doctor who works for him—"

  "Would've probably mentioned her not needing additional birth control with her condoms."

  "So we're back to LeBlanc being at the top of the suspect list."

  "Him and his kid, Stephen, yeah."

  "And—"

  "Her Voodoo lover," they both said together.

  "Which makes your old friend Téos shop being closed less of a coincidence."

  "Mais, yeah," Nick agreed with a dark frown as he started punching buttons on his cell phone. "Let's see if we can find out where she lives."

  The hurricane shutters on the single-story shotgun in the Faubourg Marigny Historic District were closed, which made it impossible to see inside, but when no one answered the bell, Nick and Kate had to assume the owner wasn't home.

  "I could break in," Nick offered.

  "If her house is even half as cluttered as her store, it'd take an eternity to find anything that might be helpful," Kate muttered. "Besides," she added as a black-and-white police car cruised by, slowing as it viewed them standing on the porch, "one thing neither of us needs is to get busted."

  They were back in the much more visible Hummer, having dropped the Escalade back at the parking garage, then placing an anonymous call to the cops telling them where to pick it up.

  "Good point."

  They decided to try Antoinette again. When the butler informed them she was at the hospital visiting her husband, they tracked her down there, only to run into another dead end.

  "I'm not that surprised," Kate said as they left the hospital. "I wouldn't share any of my secrets with her, either. And even if Tara had tried to tell her about the trouble she was in, she wouldn't have listened unless it immediately impacted her life."

  "Which is screwed up enough," Nick said.

  "Now, there's a surprise."

  "We could go back to the left-hand guy," Kate suggested as he gave her a boost up into the passenger seat. "Push on him a bit more, see if he'll be more cooperative."

  "I doubt that. The guy didn't seem all that intimidated the first time."

  "You could threaten to shoot him," she said after he'd come around and gotten into the Hummer. Unlike when they'd been in the rental car, or even the Escalade, she felt as if he were sitting in a different zip code. "Or, hey, better yet, let him know that he's dealing with a trained assassin."

  "It's nice to know you find me useful."

  "Oh, I do." She leaned across the Grand Canyon of a gulf between them and pressed her lips against his. "For more than the fact that you know how to break a bad guy's neck."

  "And you learned this where?" he asked as he splayed a hand against the back of her head and deepened the kiss.

  "Hey, I read. Watch the History and Discovery Channels. You SEALs are hot these days." She trailed a fingernail up his thigh and felt an almost giddy sense of feminine power as the muscles clenched. "If only people knew how hot."

  "You keep that up, sweetheart, and you're going to find out what it's like to have sex in a Hummer."

  That had never been on her to-do list before. But because it was suddenly sounding more than a little appealing, she clasped her hands together in her lap to keep them out of trouble.

  "So, what do you suggest we do about the guy in Algiers?"

  "Let's send Remy out there," he decided, flipping open his phone. "Jean-Renee Bertrand might be as cooperative as a stone, but unless he's independently wealthy, he's still got to make a living. I'd be real surprised if that place meets code. Maybe if Remy flashes his badge, suggests a possible visit from the fire marshal, he might be able to shake something loose."

  39

  TARA WAS UP TO HER ELBOWS IN BREAD dough when her cell phone began playing Rihanna's "Unfaithful."

  She froze. Then assured herself it had to be a wrong number. Or someone trying to get her to change her phone service. Or buy vinyl siding.

  The call couldn't be for her. Because everyone believed she was dead. Didn't they?

  Some people were able to ignore a ringing phone. Tara had never been one of those people.

  Wiping her sticky hands on a dish towel, she dug into a pocket and pulled it out.

  And blew out a relieved breath when she recognized the familiar number on the caller ID.

  She flipped it open.

  "Hello," she said cautiously, because you could never be too careful.

  "Hey, girl," the all-too-familiar voice said. "Welcome back to the living."

  Nick and Kate had just made it back to the marina when Nick's phone rang.

  "Yeah, Remy?"

  "Hey, cher. Look, you know that guy you asked me to check? Runs that restaurant where you were thinking of throwing your new girlfriend that party?"

  Nick hadn't just fallen off the crawfish truck yesterday. "Sure," he said, playing along with whatever ruse his former partner had going. "What about it?"

  "Well, he says he needs to talk to you. That he's not gonna agree to any deal unless he gets his down payment and your signature on the contract for the party room."

  They both knew there was no party. Or restaurant. Which could only mean that Remy had reason to think his phone calls were being monitored. Which wasn't good news.

  "Well, that could be a problem tonight," he said. "Because obviously I can't take the lady with me." He put a finger up to his lips, warning Kate to keep quiet. "And although you nailed her shooter, just in case that pissed-off Chicago boyfriend hired himself a backup, I don't feel real comfortable about leaving her alone right now."

  He could tell Kate was less than pleased by that comment. Which was too damn bad. He was willing to meet Remy in Algiers, but no way was he leaving her alone just when things had taken a turn he hadn't yet figured out.

  "No problem. Remember my little brother Johnny?"

  "Sure. We used to sit on the top of your parents' couch and knock him down with throw pillows back when he was learning to walk."

  Despite the seriousness of the subject, Nick grinned as Kate lifted her brows.

  "That's him. He's a patrolman uptown. I thought I'd send him over to babysit Kate."

  "That might work." Nick still didn't like the idea of leaving her, but Remy seemed determined, which meant something big was up. "So long as he isn't still holding a grudge from those toddler days."
<
br />   "Hell, no. He's the easiest-goin' guy you'd ever want to meet. Kid reminds me of a cocker spaniel puppy, he's so eager to please."

  "Okay, then. But if I were you, I'd advise him not to use that b word when describing his assignment."

  Remy laughed. "Got it. So, we're on?"

  "Yeah. I guess so." It would, Nick thought, be like the old days, when they were kids and Remy used to play cops and robbers. Thinking back, more often than not Johnny Landreaux would get cast as the robber and end up being locked into one of the kennels the Landreauxs kept for their hunting dogs.

  "I'll meet you there after Johnny shows."

  "Great." Remy hung up.

  "So?" Kate said. "What were you trying so hard not to tell me?"

  "Remy couldn't talk. Not sure why, but he wants me to meet him in Algiers."

  "I'm coming with you."

  "No, you're not."

  "Excuse me?" She rose to her full height. Folded her arms. "There's no way you're leaving me here with a babysitter while you go out and play cop. Which, may I point out, you no longer are."

  "Johnny Landreaux isn't a babysitter. Think of him as another member of the team."

  "It's the same damn thing."

  "Kate." Talk about your timing, Nick thought as he saw the black-and-white cruiser roll up to the dock. "Please. You hired me. Let me do my job."

  "Dammit, Broussard—"

  "Okay, here's the deal," he said. "I'll call you as soon as I get there. If there's not one helluva good reason for you not to be in on the conversation with Bertrand, I'll tell Johnny to bring you right over."

  "Did I mention I don't like compromise?" she asked as the young man in the spiffy blue uniform and shiny badge came walking toward the boat.

  "I seem to recall you saying something along those lines. But give me this one thing, and I promise as soon as I get back here, you can compromise me all you want."

  "I'm pissed at you."

  "I know."

  "But I suppose I did hire you because it's your town."

  "Right." He lowered his forehead to hers. "We're wasting time here, chère. I swear I'll call as soon as I get there."

  He felt her beginning to cave in. She wasn't happy. But he could fix that later. Right now, although he knew it was chauvinistic as hell, he just wanted to keep her safe.

  "All right." Her frustrated sigh feathered her fiery hangs. Then she gave him a long, level warning look. "I want to know exactly what you know. When you know it."

  "Absolutely."

  Nick turned to the cop, who didn't look much younger than the rogue cop who'd held a gun to his head only three nights ago. Damned if Johnny Lan-dreaux hadn't grown up to be nearly as good-looking as his big brother. And didn't it just figure that his uniform would be starched, his black cop shoes spit-polished?

  "Hey, Johnny."

  "Hey, Nick." The face, smooth as a newborn baby's bottom, split into a big smile. "Great to see you again. I was thinking about you a while back. While I was watching this special on SEALs on the Discovery Channel."

  "Is that so?" Nick glanced over at Kate, hoping to share a smile. No such luck. "Well, I shouldn't be long," he said after introductions were made. "Meanwhile, don't let anyone on the boat. And whatever you do, don't let Detective Delaney out of your sight."

  "Don't worry." Johnny stopped just short of saluting. "The lady's safe with me."

  "Give the kid a break," Nick murmured in Kate's ear as he gave her a quick hug. He hadn't missed the sparks that had shot out of her eyes when she'd been referred to as a lady. "He's young. Green."

  "An idiot," she muttered, refusing to smile. Or hug him back.

  But she did let him go.

  Kate watched Nick walk down the dock. Climb into the Hummer. Then drive away. He didn't look back, but she knew he was watching her in the rearview mirror, so she crossed her arms again and shot the departing vehicle her darkest scowl.

  "I'm sorry, Detective," the kid cop said, his downcast expression echoing his words.

  Kate had two choices. She could take her frustration with Nick out on Remy Landreaux's baby brother. Which would be like kicking a puppy.

  Or she could suck it up and try to make the best of her situation.

  "You don't have to apologize," she said, turning back toward him. "After all, it's not your—"

  Oh, damn, damn, damn! She'd been so busy glaring at Nick, she hadn't noticed Johnny Landreaux taking that syringe from his pocket. The needle flashed, and before she could knock it out of his hand, she felt the prick at the back of her neck.

  "I'm sorry," he said again. The weird thing was, he actually seemed to mean it.

  "What the hell did you shoot into me?"

  "It's just a sedative. It won't kill you," he assured her. "We just need to get you out of the way for a while."

  "Why?" Was it her imagination, responding to the suggestion of being drugged? Or did she already feel her tongue thickening? "And who's we?"

  "You'll find out soon enough." He put his arm around her waist as she started to sway. "Now, we'd better get you into the patrol car before the stuff hits your bloodstream. Because if I have to call for backup . . ."He shook his head. "Let's just say you really don't want that, ma'am."

  "It's Detective," Kate managed to correct him. "Not ma'am." Her head was floating and her legs were turning to rubber. "And you're going to be very, very sorry you did this."

  She knew that if anything happened to her, Nick would go into scorched-earth mode and absolutely, positively destroy the bad guys' universe.

  The problem was, Kate thought, as she concentrated putting one foot in front of the other, despite what the kid cop said about the drug not being fatal, she still might not be alive to witness the conflagration.

  40

  KATE HAD NO IDEA WHERE SHE WAS. HOW SHE'D gotten here. Or how long she'd been unconscious.

  She lay in a room that was as dark as a tomb, trying to take inventory. Her arms, particularly her wrists, ached. When she tried to rub her temple, which was throbbing with the mother of all headaches, she belatedly realized that she'd been handcuffed.

  She was lying on some sort of canvas cot; when she attempted to move her legs, she found her ankles shackled as well.

  "So, Sleeping Beauty wakes," someone said in a rumbling laugh.

  Kate would recognize that voice anywhere. Even in her sleep.

  Remembering what Nick had said about bodies disappearing into the bayou, she forced her foggy, aching mind to concentrate on getting out of this situation alive.

  "Well, if it isn't Detective Dubois. Fancy meeting you here." She looked around. If there were any windows, they were covered, making it impossible to tell if it was day or night. "Where, exactly, is here?"

  "No need for you to know that, bitch." The wood floor creaked as he lumbered over to stand beside her. "Since you're not going to be leavin'."

  "I'm a detective," she reminded him. Stay calm. Focus. "And a woman." Although she wanted to gag on the words, she forced herself to sound as much like a poor, weak female-as-victim as she could. "You know how curious we are."

  "Yeah." A match flared as he lit a kerosene lamp, allowing Kate to see how flat and reptilian his eyes were. "I also know what whores you are." He bent down, closed his pudgy, fat fingers over her breast, and squeezed hard. "I had your sister once."

  Kate didn't believe him. From what Nick had told her, Martin Dubois wouldn't have been able to afford Tara. And she knew that her sister never would have willingly had sex with this dickhead.

  "You don't believe me." His fingers tightened like a vise.

  "Why would you lie?"

  He didn't answer that question. Instead, he apparently decided to share a bit of the nasty particulars with her.

  "She threatened to tell LeBlanc. Get me kicked off the security detail. But hey, you can't rape a whore, right? Besides, a guy can tell when a bitch likes being hurt. And your sister liked it. A lot."

  Before Kate had gotten appointed to homicide,
she'd worked sex crimes. Knowing what some men were capable of, having seen what she'd seen, Kate didn't want to think of what he must have done to Tara.

  Which she feared wasn't nearly as bad as what he nlimned to do to her. Before he killed her.

  "How about you?" His hand moved to her other breast. "You look like her." He released her long enough In grasp the rounded neckline of the T-shirt with both bands and ripped. "Do you fuck like her?"

  "I don't know how she fucked." Relying on acting skills she'd only ever had to use on those occasions Vice would send her out to play undercover hooker, Kate managed to keep her tone matter-of-fact. "But I was always better at everything growing up." It wasn't easy shrugging while lying on her back, but Kate managed. "So, I suppose I'm better."

  His hands, which were groping at her lace-covered breasts, momentarily stilled. Well, she'd definitely gotten his attention with that assertion.

  "But," she tacked on silkily, "I suppose there's only one way for you to find out."

  He was tempted. She could feel it.

  His fingers tightened again, digging into her bared flesh in a way Kate knew would leave bruises.

  It's okay. Bruises fade.

  Death, she reminded herself as one hand moved to the metal button on her low-cut jeans, is permanent.

  41

  "LET'S GO OVER THIS ONE MORE TIME SO I CAN get it straight." Nick was sitting in the office of the St. Jude homeless shelter. Desiree/Tara's face was white as cold ashes, her eyes red-rimmed. Father Mike Gannon sat behind his desk, his expression grim. "Remy called you?"

  She nodded. "Th-th-that's right. He told me that they had Kate." She still couldn't believe her sister was in New Orleans. And Remy and Dubois had captured her? How could that have happened? "That they were going to kill her unless I brought them the tape."

  "The tape showing the murder of a hooker."

  "Jasmine was my friend."

  Tara still remembered how shocked she'd been when the John had hit Jas so hard, he'd knocked her off her feet. She knew she'd remember the sound of her head slamming into the metal leg of the bed, like the thunk of a ripe melon hitting the pavement, for the rest of her life.