“This is going to be interesting. I heard Barton Quincy talking to Larry Swenson. He was saying that someone had ‘gone off the rails.’ That the ‘idiot believes in ghosts!’ Then they said they had suspected all along that ‘she’ needed to be taken care of, that ‘she’ shouldn’t have been on it or that they should have dealt with ‘her’ earlier. Ryder, it doesn’t sound like they’re talking about Casey. So, who could they be talking about?”
He glanced at Lena and pulled his phone from his jacket pocket, pretending he’d gotten a phone call.
“There’s only one other person I can think of...someone who could have helped them in what they needed to do for the right sum. Don’t mock my conspiracy theories, cousin.”
“Ryder, we can go on in now,” Stephanie said.
They walked down a hallway toward the conference room.
Ryder was just about to enter when the phone he was still holding rang.
It was Braxton.
“Ryder, I swear I don’t know how Casey did it, but...”
“Did what?”
“She’s gone. Casey is gone. Her friends and co-workers never showed up for work. No one took her, Ryder. I know that much. She was here with me, and she stepped out to clean something off a window, and then...she was gone. No one took her. She ran. Away from me. On purpose.”
Ryder felt his heart flip, and a burning sensation cascaded through him.
Fear.
He looked through the glass wall enclosure of the conference room, thinking that one of the four members besides Stephanie had to be absent.
But they were all there. Barton Quincy was at one end of the table. Justin was next to him, talking to him earnestly. Larry Swenson was sitting back, playing with his pen and looking bored. Harry Miller was writing notes on a pad.
If they were all there...
It still had to be someone connected.
She. The someone who was going off the rails.
He grabbed Stephanie by the shoulders. “Get in there. Be tough. Carry out the agenda just as we planned. I’m sending cops, and unless they get you out of the offices, you’re going to be fine. Don’t let them tell you the baby is in danger, or that I’m in danger or anything. Don’t believe any threat if it comes to it, and don’t leave the offices. You understand? Hang tough.”
Workers were busy at desks in the main room, and the conference room was visible to all of them through the glass.
“Lena is with me?” Stephanie asked.
Ryder nodded.
“I won’t leave her,” Lena promised.
Ryder nodded again. He could hear Braxton, still on the line, calling his name. He put his phone back to his ear as he left the offices. “I need police at the Marceau offices, Braxton. Now. Those bastards can’t try anything against Stephanie. I’m going after Casey.”
“But where? I ran down the streets, Ryder, I swear. I didn’t want to fail you. I called it in. She must have moved like lightning, and she knows how to zig and zag these streets and is aware of every little nook and cranny to hide in if a cop comes. I’ve got the city searching. I don’t see how you’re going to find her—”
“I will,” Ryder said. “I will. Because I think I know where she’s headed.”
“I’ll get the force out—”
“No. We can’t. Not if everyone is going to come out of this alive. Just get here. Stephanie is in danger. I’ll find Casey,” he said.
He was already running out to his car.
He used his emergency vehicle lighting to make it through the French Quarter to Rampart.
Then he turned the lights off.
And prayed he was right.
Chapter 9
Casey ran, dodging tourists, glad they were closer to Esplanade than Canal. There seemed to be more tourists towards Canal and Jackson Square, but she was running away from there and the river toward Tremé. As she ran, she heard a jazz band playing, caught the sound of laughter and applause, and thought about the city—the unique architecture, the beauty of the cathedral, the colors, the laughter, and the unique décor that made up New Orleans. She felt the life of the city and kept running, arguing with herself all the while.
Whoever this is will just kill them all.
She was a psychology major. She would use psychology. If she didn’t save her own life, it would be okay if they at least let Jared and Lauren go.
She ran almost all the way to Rampart and paused to catch her breath. The first order of business had been to escape Detective Braxton Wild. She was sorry for what she had done to him. He’d been there to protect her. He was nice, determined. He’d just never expected the woman he was supposed to be guarding to turn on him and run.
She took several deep breaths and started off again, this time at a quick walk. Could this person really have eyes everywhere? Would they have known if she had spoken to Detective Wild? But what if he’d tried to stop her? What if his interference had caused Lauren’s death?
Again, and most logical, what if she got there and the murderer just killed all three of them?
That was definitely possible. But...
She had no choice. And she knew just how Lena had felt the day she had taken pills rather than watch her baby die.
There was still a ways to go. She crossed Rampart and quickly ran down a side street. She suddenly saw several police cars and wondered if they might be looking for her. Detective Wild would have likely called in her disappearance immediately.
But she bypassed them and reached the cemetery, running through the entrance as fast as she could. Like most cemeteries in the city, it had been laid out in lanes with small mausoleums lining each side, and occasional patches with in-ground burials, wall vaults or ovens, and single, aboveground tombs.
She knew the way to where she needed to be.
The gates were open. The Marley family mausoleum had not been properly resealed since William had been exhumed.
But she didn’t head straight there or to the Marceau tomb. She was probably a fool. She remained torn, wondering how many killers were involved, if they really would have known if she had spoken to Detective Wild, and where they were now...
Did they know she was coming? That she was here?
She edged around the vault in front of her, trying to determine if she had been right about her destination. Did the killer want her here? And did the killer really hold Lauren and Jared?
Tangled vines surrounded the tomb, but she carefully crept around it. As she was doing so, she realized that she was being followed. Someone was behind her.
She reached into her bag, wishing she had a gun—and that she knew how to use one—and sought her phone.
She stopped and swung around, holding her cell high.
Someone stood in front of her, entirely clad in black like a child who had found a black bedsheet with which to play ghost.
Man? Woman? A smaller person, she thought. Medium in stature but small for a man.
“You’re holding a cell phone on me?” the person demanded. The voice was amused and still coming to her distorted.
“I have the FBI on speed dial. You make a move toward me, my finger twitches, and they’re all over you in two seconds.”
How had this tiny person held Lauren and Jared and caused Lauren to scream?
Easy. He or she held a small gun in one hand.