by Meghan March
“Ms. Maison?”
“Who’s this?” My tone isn’t exactly friendly because I have no idea who the hell is calling me on an unknown number or how he knows my name.
“You’re a hard woman to track down, Ms. Maison. This is Detective Cavender of the NOPD. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you since yesterday.”
Fuck. Cavender.
I should have expected he’d be on the hunt for me from the moment Moses told me what happened to Desiree, but I had other things on my mind—like feeling guilty and terrified because whatever happened was so bad, even Moses wouldn’t speak on the horror he saw.
Taking a slow breath, I compose myself. I can handle this. Cavender doesn’t know shit. He just knows he has a body in a house that I’m currently selling . . .
No, not currently. I was selling.
Desiree is gone now. A wave of emotion threatens to sweep me under, but I hold it together, fighting off the sorrow and anger and helplessness.
“Well, you’ve found me now. What can I do for you, Detective?” There’s a bite at the edge of my words, but I don’t care.
“I need you to come down to the station and answer some questions about a homicide,” he tells me.
I grit my teeth, not wanting to have this conversation, but there’s absolutely no way I can avoid it. Still, I try anyway, playing dumb, because I’m not supposed to know about Desiree. My eyes burn when I think of what might have happened to her.
No, rein it in. This isn’t the time to fall apart.
I prop one hand on my hip, even though Cavender can’t see it. “Didn’t we already have this discussion, Detective? Because I have nothing new to add to what I already told you.”
He tsk-tsks, almost sardonically. “Different homicide, Ms. Maison. This one took place in a property that’s also connected to you. Not your condo.”
“Where?” I snap out, even though I’m aware of precisely where.
He rattles off the address I know by heart.
“What the hell happened? Who?” My questions come in racing clips.
I hear clicking over the line, as if he’s annoyingly playing with an ink pen. “Come down to the station in an hour, and I’ll give you more details.”
Goddamn it, he wants me to come to him. Probably so it’ll be easier to arrest me if he decides there’s even a shred of evidence to connect me. Which there isn’t because I wasn’t there.
I’m so sorry, Desiree. If I’d been there . . . I shut the thought down. It won’t do me a damn bit of good.
Coulda. Woulda. Shoulda.
Nothing can help Desiree now.
My eyes sting again with acid tears, but I force myself back to the conversation. What did Cavender say? Oh yeah, he wants me to come downtown.
“That timing doesn’t work for me, Detective.”
He has the audacity to chortle. “Oh, excuse me. This isn’t a friendly request, Ms. Maison. You come to the station or I’ll find you and bring you in.”
I think about where I am right now, and it almost makes me laugh.
Yeah, right, Detective. You ain’t finding me.
But then my mind returns to Desiree again. If there’s a chance the cops can somehow find this guy—the one who Trey tracked down—then I have no choice but to go and do whatever I can to put them on the right path too. Maybe I can offer them something Trey has, and they can find him? Renewed by the possibility, I decide.
“I’ll be there at noon, Detective.”
“Good, Ms. Maison. I take it you know where you’re going?”
Snide motherfucker.
“Yeah, Cavender. I know where the hell the police station is. I went there when I was raped as a teenager, but no one seemed to be taking sexual assault seriously back then. See you at noon.”
I hang up the call and go in search of Moses with my heart hammering. He’s not going to like this at all, but maybe he’ll see it my way too.
Us and Mount.
The police and the FBI.
Maybe even the cartel, if it’s safe-ish.
The more people looking for this guy only helps my odds of living through the day. Maybe no one else has to die because of this craziness, except for the man himself. I pray he meets his maker—and soon.
I don’t have to go far to find Moses. When I close the bedroom door behind me, he’s in the living room with Trey and Jules. They’re all standing around Trey’s computer on the table. Moses has his arms crossed, and a militant expression lines his face.
“We’re not using Mags as bait. It’s not fucking happening. Mention it again, and you and I are gonna have a problem.” He glares down at Trey, and the others look in my direction as I enter the room.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Trey says to Moses while meeting my gaze. “I just said we need to draw him out somehow and we know Mags is who he’s most interested in.”
“He’s right,” I tell Moses, watching the expression on his face turn into a dark, violent thundercloud.
“Gotta find another way. You’re not going anywhere near that bastard, mama. I won’t have it. Not in a fucking million years will it fly with me.”
Jules steps away from the back of Trey’s computer and pulls out the chair beside him before dropping into it. “You sure the DMV database doesn’t have shit? If we could get a current name and address, we could just go take him out ourselves.”
“Tags on the car that he used to run the red light were stolen, so that’s not helping. I’m trying a different facial rec program on the red light photo and one I refined. I hope like hell we’ll get another hit.”
I go to Moses’s side. “Where was the light that he ran? Where was he headed?”
Trey’s attention drops back to his screen and his keys click before he replies. “Poydras and Carondelet.”
I face the man who’s trying to protect me. “That’s not far from where we saw him when he was tailing us—near the World War II Museum. He sticks close to downtown, obviously, if he’s looking for me. But where the hell is he staying?”
“Little brother’s shithole is only a few miles from there too. But he wasn’t crashing there. At least, didn’t look like it when we went to check the place out.”
My gaze cuts to Moses’s face. “Could he be staying there and just covering his tracks?”
He shakes his head almost instantly. “Too risky. If he’s a pro at staying off the grid, and he knows Ricardo’s dead and the cops have his body, he wouldn’t take the chance that they might somehow figure out who he is and come knocking. My money’s on a hotel in the area where the red light camera caught him. Somewhere he won’t be noticed much.”
“Too bad the cops haven’t made that connection,” Trey says, typing away. “What about another anonymous tip?”
I glance between the two men, because this is my opening to tell them. “Cavender just called. I have to be at the station at noon to answer questions about a homicide.”
The entire room goes quiet as Moses whips his head toward me, and we lock eyes.
His jaw flexes. “You’re not going.”
“I have to go. I told him I’d be there.”
Moses steps away from the table and comes closer to me. “Not risking you, mama. Not for anything. I’ve already told you this, how many times?”
I don’t want to argue, but sometimes you wish in one hand and shit in the other to see which fills up first. Spoiler, it’s the shit hand. “I’ll be fine. I’ve been questioned before.”
“No.” His tone is final, but it doesn’t matter.
“You don’t want me to see what happened to Desiree, and I sure as hell don’t want to either, but I’m going.” I look at Trey for a second. “Is there anything I can give the police that won’t incriminate me, but might put them on the path of the guy who’s doing all this? Can we at least use the cops?”
There’s a distinct growl from Moses’s direction, and I scowl back to find his green-gold eyes glowing with intensity.
“Goddamn it, Mags
. You’re not putting yourself in danger. That’s the whole fucking reason we’re locked down here. So he can’t get to you and do what the fuck he did to Desiree. I’m not putting you at risk. Fucking forget it.”
“I’ll send a lawyer with her.”
A deep voice comes from behind us, and we all turn to see Mount standing in the doorway.
“V will drive her. No one will get to her.”
Moses’s expression frosts over. “I get that you’re used to calling the fucking shots—really, truly, I am—but this isn’t happening.”
“If Magnolia doesn’t show, Cavender will hunt her down. He’s not on my payroll. He’s a straight arrow. A prick, all the same, but he doesn’t fuck around. He’ll find her regardless. Might as well make it on her terms and try to use it to your advantage.”
Moses reaches out and pulls me against his side. “I fucking hate it.”
“I’ll be okay. I can handle it,” I tell him, looking up into his face, but he’s still seething at Mount.
When Moses finally glances down at me, I notice something I’ve never seen in his eyes before.
Fear.
Twenty-Two
Moses
I want to strangle Mount for agreeing with Magnolia, but I’m being overprotective as fuck, and it could be marring my judgment.
Who can blame me? She’s my woman.
I spent fifteen goddamned years without her, and now that I have a second chance, I won’t allow anyone to take it from me. Especially not some NOPD detective who can’t be bought.
But because I’m a stubborn son of a bitch, I also refuse to let Magnolia out of my sight. Which is why Jules and I are both sitting in the SUV across the street from the police station, watching as V opens Magnolia’s door. The lawyer climbs out of Mount’s Maybach after her, and V walks them right up to the entrance of the building.
They disappear inside, and I’m not fucking happy about this.
“It’s going to be okay, boss. That fucker isn’t taking her out at a police station. And if our buddy Antonio Reyes so much as cruises past, we’ll be on him, and then he’ll be done.”
I rip my attention from the precinct and start scanning the street for that exact purpose, even though I don’t think there’s a chance in hell we’ll see him. I don’t feel that lucky.
He’s smart, which makes him doubly dangerous because he’s definitely vicious as fuck.
My right-hand man attempts small talk. “It may not be the best time to bring this shit up, but how is everything going with Magnolia?”
I glance over at Jules, a guy I trust with my life. “It’s going good. Better than good. You know, despite all this shit.”
His eyes crease at the corners as he smiles. “That’s what I like to hear. You deserve a woman who gets you after all the shit we’ve been through.”
I recall the conversation Magnolia and I had last night. “She wants a baby,” I tell Jules, my voice rough and low. It’s unfamiliar to discuss this kind of thing, mainly because it’s never happened to me before, and because guys just don’t sit around daydreaming together about bassinets and rattles. Yet, here we are.
Jules’s eyebrows damn near shoot up to his hairline. “Holy fuck. That’s fucking huge, Moses.” He slaps my shoulder. “Damn, man. Good for you.”
“I know.” And I’d feel a hell of a lot better about it if it weren’t for this thick, dark cloud blanketing my world right now with Reyes on the loose.
“You ready for that shit? So soon?”
I don’t second-guess or hesitate. “Fuck yes. With her, it’s all different. It’s gonna work. She gets it. Gets me. Mags is it for me. And if she wants a family the way I do, I’m gonna give it to her as soon as I possibly can. I’m marrying that beautiful warrior of a woman.”
Jules grips my shoulder. “Fuck yeah, you are.” He pauses, shaking his head with a smile on his face. “When you first told me what your plan was and why we were coming back, I thought you were even fucking crazier than normal.”
I choke out a laugh. “Yeah, I figured.”
“But, man,” Jules says, his grin growing bigger with each passing second, “I didn’t doubt you even then. You say something, and you do it, because that’s the man you are. And whatever your plan is after you get the family started, know I still want to be part of it.”
The topic hasn’t come up before, but while we’re here, I ask, “You don’t want to retire?”
“I’m too young for that shit. I wouldn’t know what the hell to do with my free time. Probably get into trouble. Why? You thinking about retiring for good this time?”
My shoulders rise and fall. “None of us ever needs to work another day in our lives.”
Totally replacing the darkness in my life with light would ensure I wouldn’t muddy up our future. It’s hard to have one foot in the door and the other deep inside a dangerous game. I’d never want my future with Magnolia—or our children—to be compromised. Suddenly, risks just don’t seem all that worth it anymore.
Then again, it’s all I know.
Jules reads my silence. “Don’t get me wrong, man. I understand if you want to bow out. But I fucking get off on what we do. Don’t know that I’m ready to give it up yet. Wouldn’t you be bored? You get a charge out of this shit just like I do. It’s not all about the money. Not anymore.”
I think of the people we’ve helped disappear—rescued, actually, in a lot of ways. People who, like the sons of bitches Reyes and Ortiz, would have otherwise been killed by the cartel or someone else who wanted them dead. As our skills got more in demand, we were able to pick and choose who we helped, and not all of them have been terrible people. Some were damn decent, just desperate.
“I don’t know what I want to do yet,” I tell Jules honestly. “But whatever we decide, it’ll be a group decision. You, me, Trey, and Mags. She’s part of the team now.”
“We’re all right with that. Besides, if you stay in the business, I bet she could help us take it up a notch. She’s something else.”
“Yeah. Yeah, she is,” I say, looking back to the entrance of the station, wishing like hell I could hear and see what’s going on inside.
Twenty-Three
Magnolia
I hate everything about cop shops. From their ugly paint to the industrial flooring to the smell of burned coffee, judgmental stares, and injustice. However, cops are only part of a broken fucking system not doing a good enough job protecting the people who need it most.
I’m perched on an uncomfortable plastic chair inside an interrogation room with Barton Fields from Mount’s legal team beside me. He was in the car waiting when I climbed in the Maybach outside of the family entrance to Mount’s hidden kingdom. He introduced himself with a no-nonsense handshake and proceeded to tell me exactly how this appointment would go.
Except, the meeting hasn’t even started.
I check the time on my phone again. “It’s quarter after twelve. Is he fucking with me?”
Fields looks at the mirror on the wall opposite from where we’re sitting. “No. He’s making sure to waste your time because you didn’t ask how high when he said jump.” From the way Fields says it, I can tell he assumes someone is watching from the other side of the one-way glass. “But if they keep us waiting five minutes longer, we’re leaving.”
Fields’s assumption must be right, because at 12:19, the door to the interview room opens and Cavender struts in.
“So sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Maison.” He comes toward the table and holds out his hand to Fields first, which pisses me off. “Detective John Cavender. Who are you?”
“Ms. Maison’s counsel, Barton Fields. We’ll be keeping this meeting brief, as Ms. Maison doesn’t have any information regarding the homicide you told her about on the telephone this morning.”
Cavender’s gaze swings to me, and he offers me his calloused palm. I shake the extended hand, even though I don’t really want to.
“Is that right, Ms. Maison? You don’t know anythin
g about Desiree Harding’s untimely death? Or should I say her gruesome murder in your brothel?”
Hearing him even say her name chokes me up instantly, and Fields thankfully jumps in.
“If you could give her a moment, Detective, we’d appreciate it. This news is understandably difficult for Ms. Maison to hear so abruptly. Some compassion would go a long way.”
Oh, this attorney isn’t here to play, and I’m glad he’s by my side.
“Fine. Take a minute. Would you like a bottle of water? A coffee?”
“Water, please,” I choke out. This time, the tears burning in the back of my eyes are coming forward. I attempt to blink them back as Cavender rises to go to the door.
He opens it and barks, “Water,” at someone outside before closing it again.
When Fields offers me a folded tissue, I take it and dab at my eyes. “Thank you.”
“You knew Ms. Harding well then, I take it?” Cavender asks, and I can feel the pressure of his intense gaze assessing me. Judging me. Likely condemning me.
I blot at the tears I don’t want falling in front of him. Regardless of what he thinks, this is no fucking act. Grief for what happened to Desiree rips me to shreds inside. Because this is all my fault.
No. I can’t think about that right now. It won’t help anything. Instead, I dry my eyes and look Cavender directly in his.
“Yes, I knew her. For years. She bought the house from me. She was still paying on the bond for deed.”
“When was the last time you were at the house?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. It’s been at least a month or more.”
He scribbles a note on his tiny steno pad. “How long has it been since you’ve seen Ms. Harding?”
Time has nearly lost all order in my head. The last week is all one big blur. “A few days ago.”
He clicks his fucking pen. In-out. In-out. In-out. “Where?”
I pause for a second before answering, but I decide I have nothing to lose by telling the truth. “At a private club.”