Madam Temptress

by Meghan March

  “In her residence? I think you mean in Magnolia’s former condo building, where dozens of other people live as well,” Moses says, correcting the cop.

  “You’re right,” Cavender says, tilting his head to the side. “But, funny thing . . . we’ve got reason to believe at least two of those murders I mentioned are connected, maybe even all three. Our friends at the Bureau are lending their resources so we can gather the evidence to prove it.”

  “Connected?” The word comes out before I can stop myself from speaking.

  Cavender nods. “Yeah. Same or similar murder weapon. For all we know, this could be a case of a serial killer.”

  My mouth drops open in shock.

  Three murders. All the same or similar weapons. If someone else were telling me a story like this, I’d think serial killer too.

  He’s at least partially right. Desiree and I had matching knives. I used one in the elevator and Reyes used the other on her. But I have no idea how they’re connecting the third murder, who I have to assume was Laura Brandon. Except Reyes slit her throat . . . which means she was killed with a knife too. Hell.

  “You look awfully surprised by that, Ms. Maison,” Agent Pomeroy says.

  My attention cuts to him. “Yeah, that’s surprising and alarming news to me. And I’m unsure what about it made you feel like you had to come tell me on the day I’m laying my great-aunt to rest. At her funeral.”

  Pomeroy, at least, looks slightly abashed by my statement.

  Cavender, it seems, couldn’t care less. “If you were easier to find, we wouldn’t have had to hunt you down here. Now, we’d like you to come back to the station to answer some questions for us—”

  “Are you fucking kidding me, man?” Moses cuts him off. “What the fuck is wrong with you? She just said good-bye to her last living relative, and you want her to come down to the station. Again? No fucking way. You can wait until tomorrow or the day after, when she’s had some time to grieve. You hear me?”

  “You’d better be careful how you talk to me, Mr. Gaspard. I’ve been digging into you, and I’ve gotta say, I don’t think everything in your background adds up either. I’m reaching out to some friends in other departments for a more thorough check.”

  “Search away, Cavender. Go for it. But we’re done here.” Moses locks his arm around me and starts marching me around the two men.

  “Ms. Maison?” Pomeroy calls, and we pause.

  Slowly, I peek over my shoulder. “What?”

  “If you fail to cooperate with Detective Cavender, the FBI would be more than happy to question you ourselves. I have quick access to a federal warrant, if you make this difficult.”

  I have the urge to flip him off, but Moses’s touch on my arm stops me.

  “Contact her lawyer. Cavender has the number,” he says as we turn and walk straight to the SUV.

  Thirty-Four

  Moses

  Rage thunders through my veins while Magnolia grips my arm as we walk to the car.

  How fucking dare they show up at a goddamn funeral to get to her? I could tear them both limb from limb for causing her another moment of pain on this already fucking hard day.

  I grit my teeth as I open the door and help her inside. This is why you have a plan B already in place, I remind myself. Because I’m not letting them get to her. I don’t give a fuck what their badges say.

  As soon as the driver closes the door to the car, I reach out to take Magnolia’s hand and cover it with mine.

  “You hanging in there, mama?”

  She faces me, her whiskey eyes flaming with fire but also doused with sadness. “I’m surprised Bernie didn’t assault them with lightning from the heavens,” she says as she lifts her chin and inhales sharply. She’s trying to pull herself together, and I hate that she has to fight to do it beside me.

  “Hey, it’s all right to cry. It’s okay to be pissed. You feel whatever you need to feel right now. Don’t worry about them. I’ll handle everything. I fucking promise.”

  Her fingers tighten around my hand. I know she hears me, but Magnolia has depended on herself for so long that it takes work for her to trust me—no matter how much she loves me.

  She bobs her head and swallows, glancing out her window as we pull out into traffic. The rain has cleared away, and the sun is fighting to break through the clouds.

  I say a prayer for Magnolia’s great-aunt Bernie and hope the sunlight is a sign from her that she’s made it where she needs to go and is watching over my woman. Because no matter what Magnolia thinks, I witnessed something in that house. Sure, I saw a crotchety old woman with lots of regrets, especially for the pain she caused, but I also observed one who loved.

  It might be rolling the dice, but I think Magnolia needs to open the letter. She needs to hear what Bernie had to say to her. I just hope I’m not wrong.

  “You got that note Norma gave you?”

  Magnolia’s chin jerks toward me as she palms her purse. “Yeah. Right in here.”

  “I’m not saying you should read it right now, but . . . maybe it’ll give you something you’re missing today.”

  Magnolia presses her lips together and bites the corner of her mouth. “Yeah. I mean, if it’s what Bernie had to say to me, then I guess . . .” She pauses for a moment and takes a deep breath before slipping a hand into her purse, but as she searches for the letter, I hear the telltale vibration coming from her phone.

  Magnolia rolls her eyes and retrieves her cell instead of what she started to do.

  As soon as she looks at the screen, all color fades from her face.

  Instantly, I’m on alert. “What’s wrong?”

  Magnolia’s lower lip drops and fear fills her eyes as she turns the phone screen to face me. I read the name on the display.

  Desiree.

  “What the ever-loving fuck?”

  Tears fill Magnolia’s swollen eyes. “How is this possible? She’s . . . Who the fuck is playing a sick joke—”

  Thoughts rip through my head, facts and conclusions snapping together to complete the pattern.

  Holy. Fuck.

  “Answer it,” I tell her. “On speaker.”

  “What? Why?” She blinks and terror turns her movements jerky as she shifts in her seat, nearly dropping the phone. Then her eyes go wide as she realizes what I’m thinking. “Oh my God. It’s him. Isn’t it?”

  I take the phone from her and tap the screen to take the call before it stops ringing.

  “What do you want?” I demand.

  “You already know what I want,” a rough voice replies. His words carry a hint of an accent.

  My mind goes to exactly what he’s after—an eye for an eye. A life for a life. But there’s no fucking way that’s going to happen.

  I play dumb instead. “You’ll have to fill me in here then.”

  “Are you that stupid? I want my brother back from the dead, but since that won’t happen, I want the woman.”

  “No.”

  “Oh, you think not?”

  And that’s when both Magnolia and I hear a sound that changes everything.

  A baby crying.

  Thirty-Five

  Magnolia

  My heart freezes into a block of ice. Stone cold.

  Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

  One possibility races through my brain, but it’s not possible. There’s no fucking way. It couldn’t be. Not a chance in hell.

  But my certainty fades with every passing second as the cries turn to whimpers.

  Oh my God.

  No.

  I beg the heavens for it not to be so.

  As my mind protests what my heart already fears most, the man on the other end of the call laughs, and it’s the most evil sound I’ve ever heard.

  “I have something that your powerful friends will want back very badly. And I have no problem at all sending a piece of her for every hour my instructions are not followed.”

  “You son of a bitch!” I explode, unable to stay silent for an
other moment while he talks about maiming Aurora, because there’s no other baby he could have possibly taken that would get him what he wants.

  “Ah, there she is. Puta. I’m going to fillet you like I did your friend. But I will make it go much slower for you. Let you bleed out like you did my brother.”

  “You’re never getting your fucking hands on her,” Moses bites out, and I’m certain he believes what he’s saying.

  But he’s wrong.

  A life for a life.

  Not mine for his brother’s.

  Mine for Rory’s.

  Because that sweet baby girl is innocent. She hasn’t even had a chance to live, and I won’t let some madman with a vendetta stain one moment of her life longer than it takes to get her back to her parents.

  “You really think the infamous king of New Orleans will pick a whore over his own flesh and blood? Say good-bye to your woman, because he will deliver her to me in a second to get his child back. You know it, and I know it. I believe this is what you call checkmate.”

  My throat is rough and raw, but somehow I manage to get the words out. “Where and when?” My voice breaks, and I’m not proud of it, but who walks to the gallows with a spring in their step?

  God, not even the gallows. That would be a mercy compared to what this man will do to me.

  Moses reaches out to grip my arm and shakes me with a look of rage on his face. I can read his thoughts in his eyes.

  Over my dead body. You are not making this trade.

  “Ah . . . so whores have honor too? That is a new lesson for me. I thought you were just a faithless bitch, but it doesn’t make a difference. Bring yourself, and I won’t”—he’s almost singing his vile words over the phone line—“chop off her precious, perfect pinky. They’re so little. But she doesn’t need ten fingers. She’ll only scream for a few hours when it’s gone.”

  “Where and when?” This time I put force behind my voice, even as Moses looks like he wants to strangle me himself.

  “The far end of the French Market, near Esplanade, at noon. You have forty minutes. Bring her mother. Walk the stalls. She finds the baby, and I find you. If you try anything, I’ll kill all three of you before the men in your life have a chance to stop me. Do not doubt that I will. I have no problem dealing out death.”

  “You sick fucking bastard.” Moses’s words are forced out through clenched teeth.

  “Oh, I feel your rage, but it is out of your control now. Mr. Mount will hand the whore over to me, gift wrapped with a bow, and we all know it.” He pauses, almost as if to give his words more effect. “Besides, would you really sacrifice a child? Because as you have seen, my blade is sharp and always ready. I’m not afraid to use it on the little girl. I don’t like children anyway.”

  “Don’t you fucking hurt her. I’ll come, but don’t you fucking dare hurt a hair on that girl’s head. Do whatever you want to me, but she’s innocent.”

  He tsk-tsks into the speaker. “She’s a whore in the making. Don’t be late. I enjoy spilling blood, and patience is not my virtue.”

  The call ends, and Moses and I stare at each other in the cabin of the car.

  The driver speaks first. “Jesus fucking Christ. I’m calling Mount now. He needs to know. Good fucking God, this city is going to burn if he doesn’t get his kid back. Jesus fucking Christ.”

  Moses pulls out his own phone. “I’ve got it. You drive. We have no fucking time to waste. Get us back to Mount’s, and then we’ll go find the baby.”

  Thirty-Six

  Mount

  The coppery scent of blood hits my nostrils first, and every single one of my senses goes on alert. Something isn’t right. Every fiber of my body can attest to that.

  I grab Keira and move her behind me, pushing her toward P, our driver. “Drop anyone you don’t recognize. Keep her safe, or I’ll kill you.”

  “Lachlan?” My wife says only two syllables, but I feel fear in each of them.

  I spin and cup the side of her face. “I love you. Now stay here.”

  “What—” Keira cuts off her question because she knows better than to voice it. Our life is not without peril, but I haven’t put her in danger in a long fucking time, and I’m not about to start now.

  With the grip of my gun resting comfortably in my palm, I stalk down the hallway, determined to find out who the hell would dare breach my sanctuary. Who would be so fucking stupid and reckless.

  They will die today.

  When I round the corner, I immediately spot a blood trail and a body. A shaft of rage and loss pierces my heart like a jagged stake.

  V. My brother in arms and second-in-command.

  I drop to one knee beside him and the red pooling beneath him, forcing myself not to react.

  Find. Kill. Those are the only two thoughts in my head as I confirm there’s no pulse.

  Not that I was expecting one with the number of holes in his chest and the amount of blood soaked into the carpet.

  “I’m sorry, brother.” With my fingers, I close his eyelids and keep moving. Four more bodies lead me like fucked-up bread crumbs to the one room that should never see anything but love.

  A sledgehammer thunders in my chest where my heart should be, despite my iron-clad control, as I reach for the door handle that’s smeared with blood.

  Everything goes quiet, and I prepare for the worst.

  Pain tears through me as I twist the knob and burst inside.

  I will burn this city to the ground. I will—

  My mind goes blank as I take in the scene in Rory’s pink bedroom. Bethany, her nanny, lies motionless on the floor, her head twisted to an awkward angle. I charge to the crib, but it’s empty.

  I search the room for any sign of my baby girl, but there’s nothing.

  Her nanny’s dead, and my baby is gone.

  “NOOOOOOOOOOO!”

  Thirty-Seven

  Keira

  My phone vibrates in my purse as I hear Lachlan’s roar. It’s fueled by an unholy rage that fills my heart with terror. The most horrendous fear that could ever strike a parent’s soul takes hold of me.

  “Where’s my baby?” I scream as I charge down the hall, uncaring about the hands trying to hold me back. I don’t give a fuck if they rip my arms from my body. I just need my baby.

  When I turn the corner, I stumble to a halt as my stomach revolts at the sight and smell of death.

  Scar. My friend. My quiet confidant.

  “Lachlan!” I scream with all the force inside me, but I’m already stumbling drunkenly toward the next lifeless body.

  It’s like something out of a horror movie. So much blood and death. Dread chases me with every breath I’m scared to take.

  “Rory!” I scream again, this time praying I’m not going to find what I fear most. My mind is filled with visions I will never recover from if they come true.

  I see the blood on her door, and then I see Lachlan’s ashen face.

  I freeze in my tracks. All the blood drains from my limbs at the stricken horror etched on my husband’s face.

  “Oh God. Oh God.” Tears flood down my cheeks as my voice turns ragged and sobs are wrenched from the very depths of my soul. “Where is she? Where’s my baby? Is she—”

  I can’t even get the word out.

  My baby can’t be dead. My baby can’t be dead.

  Lachlan rushes toward me and grips both my arms. His fingers are like iron manacles jerking me to a halt.

  “Where is she?” I ask, but really, I’m begging for her to come back.

  My heart stops when he finally speaks in a tortured tone I’ve never heard from his lips.

  “She’s gone.”

  Thirty-Eight

  Magnolia

  “Why aren’t they picking up?” Panic has set in as all of us try to reach Mount and Keira to relay the horrific news.

  “Answer the fucking call, man!” Moses shouts at his phone as he tries Mount again.

  “Come on, Keira! Pick up!” I shake my cell, like some
how that’s going to make her respond. Not that I have any fucking idea how to tell her that a bloodthirsty madman who wants me dead went after her helpless, innocent child instead. Tears spill down my cheeks in another wave of unrelenting guilt.

  God, if it’s possible to regret an entire life, I’m doing it now.

  Nothing—not grief, not love, not hate—could bring these emotions out of me. Nothing makes you realize every single way you’ve ever failed like an innocent suffering for your sins.

  I try the call again, praying Keira’s going to pick up as much as I’m dreading the pain I’m going to cause.

  And then it hits me.

  I turn to Moses, who’s vibrating with unleashed fury beside me. “What if they already know? Oh my God! What if they’re already home?”

  The driver punches it, laying on the horn as he blows through a red light. I grab the seat in front of me as he floors it through the crowded streets of the French Quarter, pedestrians darting out of the way.

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Moses punches at his screen again, trying Mount, and finally . . . he picks up.

  “Unless you know where my baby girl is, you’d better stop fucking calling me,” Mount says in the coldest, scariest tone I’ve ever heard.

  Chills skitter across every inch of my body as I feel the pain and fear underlying his every word.

  “Reyes has her. We’re going to get her back. Noon. The French Market. Far end near Esplanade. He wants to make a trade for Magnolia.”

  The roar that comes through the phone turns my bowels to liquid.

  Reyes was right. Mount will turn me over in a heartbeat to save his baby girl. Hell, if we all survive this, he might kill me anyway for even putting her in danger.

  I wouldn’t blame him one single bit. Hell, I’d hand him the loaded gun myself.

  “We’re coming to you,” Moses says, cutting through the terrifying silence that followed the pained roar. “Everyone’s getting out alive today but Reyes, and if you say that you don’t give a damn what happens to Magnolia, I’ll kill you myself before I save them both. You hear me, Mount? We play this my way.”