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Connor turned toward the window. They were in a hotel room high above the city, waiting for word from Sherwood on how to proceed from here. From this view, Connor could see the Mississippi River below. A steamboat full of tourists plowed through the muddy water right next to a barge bulging with imports. A couple holding hands strolled along the Moonwalk.
As usual, he was trapped in a prison of his own making.
He glanced back at Josie. “Which means we have to go out there and look around. With new eyes.”
“Connor, Sherwood was firm. They covered every inch of the mansion and brought in a laptop and several electronic pads. The few files they found on those were clean. What they found in the safe is it. Armond obviously has most of his dirty work hidden. And whoever tried to kill him, well, they didn’t leave any tracks but they did leave that load of cash and that stack of invoices.”
“So you don’t think that was Armond’s stash?”
“I can’t be sure until I talk to Armond, but I’m guessing no. The whole explosion thing would have brought the authorities even if we hadn’t been there. They got in, left the evidence and set up the bomb. No tracks, but plenty to stew about.”
“There’s always tracks,” he replied. “And I’m the kind of person who knows every trick to hide those tracks. I used to hide mine. If I’d had more time, I would have eventually found Armond’s hiding places.”
“And that’s why we keep you close now,” she reminded him.
Connor turned back to the view. “I’ve always loved this city,” he said. “The first time I came here as a kid, I knew I wanted to live here.” He put his hands in his pockets. “My mother lived here before I was born and we only came back for a few months when I was around ten years old, but she never talked about it much.” He kept his back to Josie. “She had a place here. Owned it free and clear. It’s mine now.”
Josie got up and came to stand by him. “Where’s your apartment?”
He turned to look at her. She’d had a shower and had changed back into her work clothes. She looked fresh-faced and young. Too young to be running around with vagrants and villains.
“On a side street a ways off from Jackson Square. Kind of hidden. I used to walk through the Quarter every morning. I’d grab a cup of coffee at Café du Monde, maybe an order of beignets. I loved waking up in this city.”
“You’re speaking in past tense,” Josie replied. “Don’t you still love New Orleans?”
“I do.” He turned to face her so she’d see the sincerity in his eyes. “But I don’t love the corruption at every corner, the gangsters and criminals that feed on desperate people.”
Josie’s cat eyes flared to a brilliant simmer. “Is that what happened to you?”
“Yes.” He’d never admitted that to anyone else. “My mother’s life was a facade. I understand that facade now. She was young and single and scared. She had two children by two different men. She worked hard to provide for us, but she forgot to be there with us and she forgot that we both had fathers we’d never know. The more successful she became, the less of a mother she turned out to be. She got caught up in status and appearances, but she checked out on maintaining a budget or a relationship with her children.”
He watched a tugboat moving toward a flat barge piled high with cartons of goods. “I don’t think she ever got over my father, and she didn’t love Deidre’s father. After she died and we realized we were broke, I did things...to survive...and to protect Deidre.”
“Deidre went to one of the best schools in the U.K.,” Josie said. “I saw that in your file.”
“And did you also see that I dropped out of high school and...got into a whole lot of trouble?”
She nodded, watched the ferry crossing the river. “But you also went on to get your GED and a college education—through determination and with con money. I read everything, Connor. Before I came here, I was briefed, since I knew I’d be your handler. I kept asking myself ‘Who is this man? Who is Connor Randall?’ I didn’t even know if that was your real name or an alias.”
