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Gabe ended the call then turned to Molly. “Should I call Burke back?”
“He’ll call you.”
Molly’s burner phone buzzed, and Gabe put it on speaker. “Well?” he asked.
“That was... unexpected,” Burke said. “But you did good, Gabe. I’ll prepare the office and get secure housing for Xavier and his friends. All five of them.”
“What’s that about?” Gabe asked. “Why bring so many people?”
“My guess is that being nearly murdered has everyone in Xavier’s orbit on edge,” Burke said, “but we’ll find out when y’all get back to New Orleans. Drive safely.”
And then it was only Molly and Gabe. And she was still holding his hand.
Gabe tightened his grip, not planning to let her go anytime soon.
Tulane-Gravier, New Orleans, Louisiana
TUESDAY, JULY 26, 10:30 A.M.
“How’d your meeting go, sir?” James asked as Lamont slid into the back seat of the town car. Thank God for A/C. The DA kept his office hotter than a sauna.
“Well enough, thank you for asking.” Lamont handed a paper sack over the seat. “DA’s secretary brought in beignets. Thought you might like one.”
James took the bag with an appreciative nod. “Thank you kindly. Are they from Café Du Monde?”
“Nah. Some knockoff, but still pretty good.” He buckled his seat belt and let himself relax. “I’m going for an early lunch, James. Take me to Le Petit Choux.”
“Absolutely, sir. You must like that place. I think this is the fifth time this month that you’ve stopped in for lunch.”
That won’t do.He should have realized that James would keep track. “They’ve got amazing prawns in garlic butter. But maybe you’re right. I don’t want to become predictable.”
James glanced up to the rearview, visibly dismayed. “Oh, no, sir. I shouldn’t have said anything. If you like the food, you should go there.”
“No, I think you’re right. Don’t want to get into a rut, now, do I? Take me to Remy’s. I have a craving for fried chicken. I’ll call in the order for both of us and you can pick it up.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. With all this traffic, it’ll give them plenty of time to get it ready.”
Traffic was awful, thanks to that goddamn Satchmo festival. Why people felt the need to start partying a week ahead of time was beyond him.
He texted Ashley to send him a file to read to pass the time, then settled in. Only to have his phone buzz in his pocket. He looked at the screen, his pulse speeding up at the number.
It was a text from Tyson Whitley. It’s a beautiful day.
Lamont breathed out a sigh of relief. Stockman was dead and couldn’t be traced to him. He’d paid his right-hand man in cash, so there was no paper trail. Stockman had never carried ID, had paid everything with cash, and Stockman wasn’t even his real name.
He had no idea if his former assistant had a family, nor did he care. Theirs was a transactional business relationship. Nothing more.
Loose end, snipped.
And, like the cherry on top, he had a missed call from Cornell Eckert. If the man knew what was good for him, he was calling to say that he’d finished the job that Stockman had fucked up. He dialed Eckert’s number and the man answered on the first ring.
“Finally,” Eckert snapped. “I’ve been trying to reach you for fucking hours.”
“Be very careful,” Lamont cautioned coldly. “You work at my pleasure.”
A beat of silence. “Of course, sir.” Except that Eckert’s sir sounded a lot less respectful than James’s sir.
Lamont was losing his patience. “What is it?”
