Jules tosses his head back and laughs. “You’re just pissed she wouldn’t let you come to the rescue like some kind of white knight. Hate to break it to you, boss, but that ain’t exactly you.”
I ignore Jules and turn back toward Trey, who sits at the long scarred wooden table in the house we leased in the Marigny as our base of operations here in New Orleans.
We have a system, the three of us. We settle down in one place for a bit, and then travel to the jobs we decide to take. Make good money, and then move the fuck on. We’ve been living this way for over a decade, and I’m ready for something different.
Something slower. Something more peaceful. Something with a fiery raven-haired siren who I suspect needs peace in her life as badly as I do.
But before I could get to this phase in my life, where I was free to come back for her, there were a hell of a lot of hurdles to jump. More than I planned on, that’s for damn sure.
Luckily, we cashed in big in New York and handled my long-overdue business with Gabriel Legend—the last possible blade the guillotine of life had hanging over my head. Now that my shit with him is done and over, it’s time to get the girl and live happily fucking ever after. But that’s easier said than done. Especially when the woman in question is Magnolia Maison.
“That woman of yours wouldn’t want a white knight anyway. She can take care of herself. She needs a partner. Ride or die.” Trey grins at me.
Both of my colleagues have heard about my woman for years, and since we pulled up in the Big Easy, they’ve been watching her as closely as I have.
“Now that you can do,” he adds.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I reply as I cross the wide-open living-dining-kitchen area of the five-thousand-square-foot, modern-industrial rental, and scoop up the glass of juice Jules just poured for me.
“I don’t know how the fuck you two drink that shit,” Trey says, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
I peer down at the red liquid in the glass. “It doesn’t look bad.”
“Don’t play me. I saw what the fuck he put in that. Gross.”
I chug it in one swig and smack my lips for effect. “Fucking healthy. That’s what it is.”
Trey shakes his head. “I’ll stick to my non-healthy ways. Kills the badass-motherfucker vibe to drink beet juice.”
My badass-motherfucker vibe has little to do with what I drink and a lot to do with my reputation of making people disappear. My image is irrelevant. “You keep digging on that guy from last night. We’re gonna catch a workout, and then we’ll follow up on whatever leads you find.”
“Got it, boss.”
Trey salutes me as I grab my gym bag and head for the door with Jules on my heels and Magnolia on my mind.
Then again, she’s always on my mind. I haven’t been able to get the vision of her from last night out of my head. Sitting on the tile next to a big tub, shotgun in hand, smoking a blunt and drinking whiskey.
One hell of a woman.
As soon as we walk out the door, Jules pauses. “You think there’s a real shot she’ll come tonight?”
“That’s one thing for sure with Magnolia. You never fucking know.”
Sixteen
Magnolia
I take my Honda back to my condo building and pull it into its spot in the garage.
I’m on edge when I approach the elevator bay, but my strides are purely don’t fuck with me because I’ve got things to do and places to go. When I stop in front of the silver double doors, there’s an Out of Order sign in front of one car, and the memory of last night flashes through my brain.
He came so fast. So fucking fast. Goddamn it.
“You fucking whore!”
I can still hear the words. Was it personal? My gut knows it was. Shit like that happens in New Orleans, sure. But when it happens to me, it’s usually not an innocent coincidence.
Which makes what I’m doing today imperative—packing my two biggest suitcases with everything important and wheeling my way out of the building before anyone can ask me where I’m going.
That lasts until I step out on the sixth floor.
Instead of a guy coming at me with a knife this time, I spy a man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair standing in front of my neighbor’s door. Everything about him, down to the cheap suit and dusty loafers, screams cop.
Great.
Did someone put a gris-gris on me?
Showing zero hint of recognition or concern, I clip down the hallway without paying him the least bit of attention.
“Excuse me. Ma’am?” he says as I walk by, but I pretend not to hear him.
I’ve got my key out and about to slide it into the lock when I sense him behind me.
He sucks his teeth and his nose whistles when he breathes. “This is some perfect timing. I was just knocking on your door.”
I glance over my shoulder, giving him as much time as I’d give a bee buzzing around my head. “What do you want? I’m not buying anything. Not your bibles. Not your vacuums. Not your bullshit. Not today. This building doesn’t allow soliciting, and I’m running late.”
That’s when I make a pivotal mistake. I meet his beady cop eyes and there’s no aw shucks, ma’am, I didn’t mean to bother you in them. His eyes are hard and sharp, but that’s not the worst part. I see recognition in them.
Fuck. He knows who I am.
Why am I surprised? I’ve spent the last fifteen years in this city attracting the wrong kind of attention from plenty of cops, but this guy isn’t familiar.
Have I ever met him? I flip through my mental files and come up empty.
That glint in his flat gray eyes tells me whatever is going to come out of his mouth next is nothing I want to hear.
“Let’s try this again. I’m Detective Cavender.” He flips out a badge and flashes it at me quickly, but I make out all the simple hallmarks of a legitimate NOPD shield. Crescent on top. Star in the middle. “I need to speak to you about last night.”
“What about last night?” I ask.
His bushy brows dive together on his forehead. “You didn’t hear the fire alarm?”
My eyebrows go up, and it takes no effort at all to look eminently surprised with a side of panicked. “Fire? There was a fire? Is everyone okay? Was there damage?”
His gaze narrows further. “So you weren’t here last night?”
“Clearly not, if I didn’t know there was a fire.”
“There wasn’t a fire.” He sucks on his teeth again.
I blink, assuming another one of my favorite guises for dealing with cops—playing dumb. “Wait. I’m confused. You just said there was a fire.” My head falls to the side, and I squint to really nail it home.
He shoves his hands in his pockets and his lips pinch. I get the sense he’s frustrated with me, and inside, I smile. I can waste your time way more effectively than you can waste mine, Detective.
“There was a fire alarm. Pulled on this floor.”
Again, I evince confusion. “Now you’ve totally lost me. You’re investigating a fire alarm when there was no fire? It seems like detectives in this fine city would have better things to do.”
His nostrils flare, and he looks like he’s losing his patience with me. Good.