by Jana DeLeon
Corrine closed her eyes and silently asked forgiveness for her father’s complete lack of manners. On a normal basis, Pierce didn’t use his considerable wealth or his position as a state senator to manipulate or threaten people, but when it came to Corrine and Shaye, the lines of propriety blurred. She opened her eyes again and stared at him.
“Why would you do that?” she asked. “You know as well as I do that it only takes one person looking to make a quick buck for things like that to get out. We’re not the Kennedys, but in New Orleans, we may as well be.”
“Damn people are always looking for an easy way to get rich. This is my family. I’m not going to have the Archer name bandied about like a Kardashian.”
“It’s not the same, and you know it. None of us have done anything to cause the talk, and Shaye can hardly control what was done to her. Do you think people will blame her for what happened? I know you don’t think highly of mankind in general, but that’s a stretch, even for you.”
Pierce ran his hand through his hair, clearly agitated. That wasn’t unusual. Things outside his control always frustrated Pierce. “How is Shaye? I don’t want this to affect her.”
“You may as well wish for unicorns then, because I don’t see how it’s possible for her to remain unaffected. It affects all of us. She’s just got the worst end of it.”
“And you. If she bleeds, so do you.”
“That’s true.”
“What can I do? Let me send the two of you away for a while. I saw a place the last time I was in Italy. A small castle. I’ll buy it and the two of you can go there for a few months and take in the culture, pick out drapes, whatever.”
Corrine held in a sigh. Her father held fast to the belief that money could fix anything and refused to think differently, even though all his money hadn’t been able to prevent her mother from dying.
“I don’t think a vacation will fix this,” she said. “Not even one that includes a castle.”
“I’m not trying to fix anything. That’s Eleonore’s department. I’m trying to get the two of you out of Louisiana and away from talk.”
“I can’t just leave my job for a couple of months to gallivant around Italy. We’re already shorthanded, and my being out has already put cases even further behind.”
Pierce threw his hands in the air. “You were attacked by a psycho while doing that job. I will never understand why you insisted on being a social worker in the first place, but then you compound the first bad decision by putting yourself in such risky positions on top of it. You’re not average people, Corrine. No matter how much you’d like to convince others that you are.”
Corrine frowned. She was well aware she wasn’t average people. If the mansion she lived in wasn’t enough proof, the private security guards parked in front of her gate, courtesy of her father, were a clear indication. Corrine wasn’t obtuse. She knew people treated her differently because of who her father was, but that didn’t mean she had to act special just because people tried to treat her that way.
“I’m not taking off work,” Corrine said, “and that’s final. I’ve missed enough already, and I’m looking forward to going back in another week. But if you want to try to tempt Shaye with your castle idea, then give it a whirl.”
He perked up a bit. “You think she’d go for it?”
“Not a chance in hell.”
He shook his head. “The two of you are going to be the death of me.”
“Probably.”
“Then what can I do? I can’t sit around doing nothing.”
A tiny bit of empathy wormed its way into Corrine’s thoughts, and she decided to give her father a break. His intentions were always good even if his execution needed work. And besides, it wasn’t as if she didn’t have a firsthand understanding of all the worry that a single parent put into their only child. They had that in common.
“I honestly don’t know what you can do,” Corrine said. “I don’t know what I can do. I’ve been struggling with it every minute of every day since all of this mess with Clancy happened. I swear, if I had an answer, I’d share it with you.”
The impatient and slightly belligerent expression he’d worn before slipped away and was replaced with remorse. “I’m so sorry, honey. I know this can’t be easy for you, and since Shaye is as stubborn as you are, I know exactly how you feel.”
He wanted her to smile, so she forced a tiny one. “I guess I deserve everything I’m getting, right?” she said.
“Maybe a little.” He rose from the chair and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “I have to get back to the office, but if you can think of anything, please let me know.”
“I will, and thank you.”
“Give Shaye my love. I’d like to take you both to dinner this week.”
“I’ll let her know.”
Pierce headed into the house, and Corrine looked across the swimming pool at the beautiful landscaping and lush grass that made up her backyard oasis. She was surrounded by beauty but spent so much time dwelling on the ugly side of life. Why couldn’t she have been some simpleton heiress, content with tea parties and charity events? And Shaye one of those girls who loved dresses and talked about weddings and babies?
She frowned. Yuck.
Those women were so far removed from the two of them that she didn’t even believe it possible for them to fill those roles for a day without whining. She had to face facts—both she and Shaye had a calling…a bigger purpose than being pretty faces for society paper photos. They wanted to make the world beautiful for everyone.
Unfortunately, they hadn’t even put a dent in it.
He watched her as she left the psychiatrist woman’s office building and headed down the sidewalk toward her SUV. She was careful, always checking the street before she walked. Always checking the back of her vehicle before she got in. Alarm system. Martial arts training. Nine-millimeter at her waist.
He’d been watching her off and on ever since the night the cop found her. The night she’d escaped. At first, he figured he’d wait until social services put her in one of those group homes, then he’d get her back and go on as usual. But then that Archer bitch had shown up at the hospital and everything had gotten complicated. He decided the girl had to be killed before she could tell his secrets. Before she ruined all his careful work. But the Archer woman made everything impossible. Police guards. Private security. And the hospital played along with her every whim. No one could get to the girl. Not even him, and before now, he’d always been able to find a way.
He followed the story on the news, waiting for the girl to tell everyone what had happened to her. But as the days ticked by and nothing was forthcoming, he started to wonder. Then the news leaked. The girl had no memory of the past. Not even her own name. He wanted to rejoice but was afraid to. What if the memory loss was only temporary? He’d always been careful when he’d taken her food and when he conducted the ceremonies. He’d always worn a mask, as had the other participants. But they hadn’t disguised their voices. He’d heard about a case where the victim had identified the man who attacked her by his voice alone. The jury had bought it, and the man was in prison.
Then he’d started to worry that one of the others might get scared and be tempted to say something to the police. That the threat of an investigation backed by Pierce Archer’s money might be enough to have them offer up a deal in exchange for their own freedom. So he’d eliminated the others. No one would ever match their voices, because he’d silenced them forever. Then he waited and watched, but weeks, then months, passed and the news reported nothing new and eventually, the entire story faded away.
He wanted to believe he was safe. That she would never remember, but it was impossible to relax with that thought constantly niggling in the back of his mind. He thought again that if he killed her, he’d be done with it forever, but would he? Or would killing the girl be the thing that got him caught? Everyone was watching her now, fawning over the sad little victim. And the Archer bitch had surprised everyone by taking her in.
If anything happened to the girl now, he’d have the Archer bitch and all her money pushing to catch him, and he didn’t need that kind of heat.
He had one other option. It was a tricky one, but manageable.
But he hadn’t needed to use it.
She never remembered.
Nine years had passed and the girl had never done anything to indicate she could recall her past. He’d moved away for years, feeling that a new city was the only safe way to continue his practices, but no matter how many cities he tried, he’d always come back home, even if only for a short while. New Orleans was the only place he’d ever felt the power of the One and True God, and he’d returned for good three months ago, finally allowing himself to slip into the comfort of one who had gotten away with it.
He’d needed to return to the ceremony and ritual that he’d abandoned since the girl escaped. He’d just made arrangements to return to the old ways. To return to the spiritual place he used to dwell. Then that idiot Clancy had gotten caught and he’d started to worry again. The news was filled with stories of notebooks collected from Clancy’s work site. What if they were records of Clancy’s “other” line of business? He’d given Clancy only his first name, but what if it was somewhere in those notebooks? It wasn’t an odd or unique name, but it wasn’t overly common, either. If the police started poking around, would they find something to trace the girls back to him?
They were questions with no answers and only one solution.
He’d decided that he needed to clean house, as he should have nine years before. So he started doing reconnaissance immediately. So many people might possess knowledge they didn’t even know they had, and if the cops figured out Shaye Archer was one of the girls Clancy sold, they would question everyone all over again. Something that might not have made sense all those years ago might make a whole lot of sense now.
The cops who found the Archer girl. The doctor and nurses who cared for her. They were all on the list. And of course, Shaye.
It was the only way to ensure her continued silence.
3
Friday afternoon, Shaye walked into the police station and greeted the desk sergeant, who gave her a big smile.
“You’ve been busy, Ms. Archer,” he said. “That was a fine bit of work you managed with Detective Lamotte.”
Shaye felt a blush creep up her face at the veteran cop’s praise. “Thank you, but I think I got lucky more than anything else.”
“Nonsense. You’ve got a good gut for this kind of work. I think you’ve got a big future ahead of you.”
“Don’t tell my mother that.”
The desk sergeant smiled. “Well, mothers worry. That’s their job. Still, kids have managed to live their own lives for thousands of years despite it. I’m guessing you will too.”
Shaye smiled. “You’re very perceptive. You must be a cop.”
He laughed. “Stop flattering me and get on back to your meeting. Down the hall where the interrogation rooms are. Second on the left.”
“Thanks.” Shaye headed down the hall for the interrogation rooms, wondering for the hundredth time why she was being called into the station. She’d answered a million questions already about her last case, which had intersected with a case Detective Lamotte had been working. Her written statement had been lengthy and very detailed. She kept copious notes when working and had been happy to turn them all over to the New Orleans police when her part in the investigation had wrapped up.
It was her second case since she’d opened her own private investigator firm, and she’d been tasked with a single objective—to find a missing street kid named Jinx. She’d been “hired” by another street kid, Hustle, who’d helped her with information on her first case. Her part of the investigation had ended well, with Jinx rescued and reunited with her aunt, who was legally seeking to gain custody. Jinx’s future looked bright. Hustle was living with the man who’d saved his life, and who was also a friend of Shaye’s, and was helping him with his motel.
But for the New Orleans police, the investigation was just beginning.
John Clancy, the man who’d kidnapped Jinx and other street kids, had been trafficking humans for almost twenty years. Stacks of notebooks containing coded lists of buyers and sellers had been recovered from his office before he’d had the opportunity to burn them. Now the police were tasked with the seemingly impossible job of trying to figure out who the buyers and sellers were and attempt to locate those who were sold. It was one giant cold case that was unlikely to yield any happy endings.
But the police wouldn’t call in a private detective for help with that, and Shaye had no information about John Clancy to contribute other than the small number of facts she’d already given them. So whatever she’d been called here for, that wasn’t it. And her…friendship, she’d call it, with Detective Jackson Lamotte was growing stronger, but if Jackson wanted to talk to her, he’d call her himself. And she seriously doubted he’d ask her to come to the police station, especially if it meant his partner and superior officer, the useless Detective Vincent, might use it to cause trouble for Jackson.
She located the second room and rapped lightly on the door. A man’s voice inside called for her to enter, so she opened the door and stepped inside. A middle-aged man with graying hair and a dour expression rose from the end of the table and studied her for a couple of uncomfortable seconds.
“I’m Shaye Archer,” she said, breaking the silence. “I understand you wanted to meet with me?”
She glanced over and saw Detective Vincent sitting at the far end of the table. He was leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and staring at her like the cat that swallowed the canary. Shaye felt her back tighten. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good. She wasn’t worried about herself, but if Vincent had found a way to get back at Jackson for making him look like the lazy, incompetent ass he was, Shaye knew he’d use it.
The other man continued to stare and Shaye lost what shred of patience she had. “And you are?”
“My name is Malcolm Frasier,” he said. “I’m with internal affairs.”
“Then I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong person, Mr. Frasier,” Shaye said. “I’m not a cop.”
He smirked. “No. But I have reason to believe that you have information I’d be interested in concerning Detective Jackson Lamotte.”
Shaye stared directly at him. “I can’t imagine that I do.”
“So you’re saying you don’t know Detective Lamotte?” Frasier asked.
“I know Detective Lamotte. I know a lot of detectives.”
“But you’re not getting confidential information from the other detectives you know.”
Shaye shot Vincent a dirty look. This was all him. She was certain of it. “I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. Detective Lamotte has never shared confidential information with me.”
Frasier raised one eyebrow. “Your statement on the Clancy case says that you were in Detective Lamotte’s company when you got information concerning your missing persons case and that you asked Lamotte to assist you. That’s a convenient way to insert yourself into police business.”
“It was certainly convenient for the kids we rescued, and all the potential victims of John Clancy.”
Frasier ignored her remark and continued. “If you weren’t attempting to make yourself party to a police investigation, then perhaps you’d care to explain why you were in the detective’s company in the first place.”
Shaye struggled to keep her temper under control, but it took every ounce of strength to do so. The lengths Vincent had gone to in order to discredit Jackson, a man who’d gone above and beyond to find the missing kids, was more than she could stomach.
She looked Frasier directly in the eye and forced her words to remain controlled. “Actually, I don’t care to explain anything to you. It was a private matter, so unless my personal life has become the purview of the New Orleans Police Department, then I have nothing else to say.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Fras
ier said.
“Am I?” The complete and utter condescension was the final straw, and Shaye drew in a breath, preparing to do the one thing she never did. “Did Detective Vincent tell you who I am? Who my grandfather is?”
A tiny flicker of uncertainty passed over Frasier’s face and he glanced at Vincent. “I don’t see why that’s relevant.”
“Pierce Archer is my grandfather. State Senator Pierce Archer. I’m sure you know the name.”
Frasier did his best to maintain his cool, but Shaye could see the chink in his armor. Vincent had overplayed his hand and Shaye had called his bluff. She turned around and looked at Vincent.
“I’m not a fan of abuse of power,” Shaye said, “so I don’t say this lightly. Don’t screw with me or my friends.”
Vincent’s face reddened but he couldn’t work up a response.
“Good day, gentlemen,” she said and exited the room, slamming the door behind her.
She marched right back to the desk sergeant, who took one look at her and asked, “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“I need Chief Bernard. By any chance is he available?”
The desk sergeant jumped up from his chair. “I’m sure he can be. Just give me a minute.”
He hurried off down the hall and Shaye took in a deep breath and blew it slowly out. She’d spent an untold number of years being a victim. Damned if she was going to be bullied by a woman-hating, bloated old windbag. And double damned if he was going to railroad the career of one of the finest detectives in the department because of her.
Vincent had just crossed a line he couldn’t step back over.
Detective Jackson Lamotte headed across the parking lot toward the police station. He’d been running down leads on a warehouse burglary all day and had been hoping for a hot shower and a cold beer. Instead, he’d gotten a summons to return to the office. Fifty bucks said it was more bullshit that Vincent had dreamed up. Ever since he’d rescued the kids with Shaye, Vincent had turned up the heat on Jackson, doing everything possible to undermine his work.