Page 27 of Knife in the Back (New Orleans #4)

“Good.” They just needed to get through Mardi Gras and then he and Stanley would regroup. They could deal with Elaine then. “Lay low for the time being.”

“What about the girl in the hospital?”

The girl was one of their inventory who’d been beaten nearly to death in a motel room by a john hyped up on coke during Super Bowl weekend. They’d thought her actually dead, but she’d been—unfortunately—resuscitated. “Is she still unconscious?”

“According to my source in the hospital, yes. But they’ve been bringing her out of the induced coma, so that could change at any time.”

They needed to eliminate her before she could speak.

“Who’s on guard duty?” NOPD had posted an armed officer outside the girl’s room, impeding his ability to take care of the problem.

“None of ours. Not until Wednesday.”

“Okay. Then lay low until then. You’ll need to get in there and take care of her once our cop is at the door. You may go.”

She rose and left quickly, likely before he could change his mind.

Elaine wasn’t a stupid woman. Stanley had met her online while researching their competition. She had a network of people—usually men—who liked teenagers, and she knew where to find the ones that no one would miss.

He dialed Stanley as soon as she’d closed his office door. “Is Ernesto home yet?”

“Not yet. He’ll probably stay out for a while, licking his wounds. Freddie gave him hell for trying to take the kid. I don’t think he expected everyone to enforce your rule.”

“Idiot.”

“He is that. I’m at his house with his grandmother. If he doesn’t come home in the next few hours, I’ll have her call him. She always does what I say and he always comes home when she calls.”

Because the Delgado matron was not stupid. Unlike her grandsons, she knew who held the power.

“Good. When he does come home, kill him.”

“Understood. There are two girls here. The ones who needed medical attention. What about them?”

That was Elaine’s other purview. She’d once been a nursing assistant and could take care of basic injuries. Anything more serious required that they put the pieces of inventory out of their misery.

“Are they fixable?”

“Eventually. I think it’ll be at least three weeks before we can put them back into rotation.”

“Then kill them, too.”

He really hated murder, but sometimes it was unavoidable.

“Understood. And Broussard?” Stanley asked.

“He’s gathered up his people.” He’d sent Gaffney to watch Broussard’s street. “They’re all in his house. They’ll hunker down for at least a day or two, protecting their kids.”

“So it worked.”

“It did. For now.”

“And when they get back to investigating?”

“We move on to plan C.”

Stanley frowned. “We could go straight to plan Z.”

Which was killing Broussard. “We’ll get there. I promise.”

“And you’ll let me be the one?”

“Yes. You’ve earned the right.” Stanley enjoyed killing and was very good at it. He also hated Broussard.

“Thank you,” Stanley said. “I’ll let you know when the Ernesto issue is resolved.”

—

The Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana

Monday, February 24, 11:55 p.m.

The house was finally quiet. Burke crept down the stairs to his darkened living room, exhausted.

Everyone was in their rooms. He had a full house.

His mother would be so pleased. God, he missed her. He didn’t think of her every day anymore, but sometimes there’d be something he wanted to share with her.

Like, look, Mom. The house is teeming with life.

Not necessarily the best reason to have a full house, of course, but they were making do. Molly was standing guard on the upper floor, Lucien on the second floor. He’d pulled in two of his part-timers to sit outside his house and Antoine had beefed up the alarm system.

For now, they were locked up tight.

Come dawn, he’d figure out what to do next. For the next few hours, he just wanted to sleep.

But he hadn’t been able to, all kinds of nightmare scenarios going through his mind. So he’d finally given up. He’d try to doze in his chair. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d slept there.

He was lowering himself into his BarcaLounger when he saw Naomi, her presence nearly surprising him into a shout.

She was sitting on the settee she’d shared with him earlier, the low glow of a lamp illuminating the knitting in her hands. She gave him a rueful look as she began to put her project away.

“I’ll go back to my room,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“No bother at all.” He walked to the settee. “May I?”

“Of course. Are you all right? You look tired.”

There it was again. Her empathy.

He settled in the corner of the settee, once again thinking of his mother. She’d always had a ball of yarn in her huge pocketbook.

“I am tired, but I couldn’t sleep. You?”

“Same. It’s always the wee hours when I wake up.”

“Nightmares?” he asked.

“Yes.” She folded her hands atop a small project bag covered with butterflies. “You have a beautiful home, Burke. Thank you for inviting us to stay here. Especially Everett and my mom.”

His mouth quirked. “And James.”

She laughed softly. “And James. I don’t know how I didn’t know they were together.”

“He told me they were just friends.”

“Sometimes that’s more than enough. Or at least the best place to begin.”

They sat in silence for a long moment that felt…comfortable. He finally pointed to her bag. “What are you making?”

“Knockers.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

She grinned and it lit up her pretty face.

“Knockers. They’re prosthetics for women who’ve had mastectomies or lumpectomies and who are either waiting for reconstructive surgery or who’ve decided against it for whatever reason.

They’re soft and breathable compared to the silicone bra inserts.

Plus, they can be worn a lot sooner after surgery.

They’re distributed by a nonprofit organization for free to women all over the world. Volunteers like me make them.”

A warm feeling filled his chest. “That’s really nice.”

She pulled the project she’d been working on from the butterfly bag.

“I started making them when I was inside. One of the women in my cellblock had had a double mastectomy and it was going to be a long time before she could have reconstructive surgery—if she got it at all. And wearing silicone inserts—even if she could have gotten them—would have been so uncomfortable in the heat.”

“No air-conditioning.”

“Not for us. They were putting it in some of the areas, but we hadn’t gotten any yet. So I made her several pairs. Those were crocheted since I wasn’t allowed knitting needles, but they did the job. My mom would send me yarn. Kept me sane.”

“Has the woman gotten reconstructive surgery now?” Burke asked.

Naomi swallowed hard. “No. Her treatment was so delayed by the prison system that the mastectomy didn’t get it all.

It had spread and…she died. Now I make these for other people in her name.

Some people think that she deserved to die, but she was in for possession of heroin.

It was her personal stash. She wasn’t a dealer.

She should have paid for her crime, but not with her life. ”

“I believe in punishing criminals, but you’re right. She shouldn’t have died.” He exhaled slowly, using his thumbs to wipe the moisture from his eyes. He wasn’t a crier, but today had been a shitty day.

“Burke?”

He forced a smile. “Long day,” he said.

“It has been. You’re going to figure this out. You and your people will, anyway. You aren’t doing this alone.”

“We’re normally so on top of our cases. We have to-do lists and whiteboards filled with leads and suspects. But this one kind of cut us off at the knees.”

“They tried to take our children.”

“They did.” He motioned to her knitting. “You can continue. I won’t bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me. I figured you’d want a moment alone.”

“I did, but I’m happy to share my alone time with you.”

She laughed. “That was cheesy.”

He found himself grinning. “It was, wasn’t it?” He watched as her hands began to move again, her stitches small and even. “My mother knitted. You made me think of her just now.”

“What did she knit?”

“Baby things. She donated them to the hospital or to shelters.”

“I do, too. We did a lot of that inside. It gives a sense of purpose, that what you’re doing will help people. Or at least allow them to know someone cared enough to make them something. I’m sorry about your mother. You must miss her.”

“I do. She gardened and cooked and baked. All the mom things.”

“She raised you, too,” she said lightly. “So that’s a check in her plus column.”

His mother would approve. “Thank you. That’s kind of you to say, but you don’t have to.”

“Like you, I rarely humor people. I try to call it like I see it.”

Except with her son, but he supposed he understood that. Coming back from prison to find your son hated you couldn’t have been easy.

He wanted to fix their relationship, to get Everett to see how special his mother really was. He wanted to clear her name. He wanted to keep his people safe. He wanted to get rid of Gaffney once and for all.

“Burke?” She was leaning toward him, her face concerned. “You spaced out.”

“My mind is spinning,” he confessed. “I don’t know what to do next.”

“I know the feeling.” Her gaze fell to her hands and she started knitting again. “I asked ADA Cardozo if we could talk to Cresswell. I figured if anyone could get me in, it would be the assistant district attorney.”

“You did?” Burke was surprised. “When?”

“When he came back after fetching Czar. Cardozo said he’d talk to his boss about it.”

“Kaj will do whatever he can. He’s a good guy.”

“Val thinks he hung the moon, and he’s so good to Sylvi. I hadn’t talked to him before tonight. I think he was avoiding me because of conflict of interest maybe. Since I could be prosecuted again at any time.”

“Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“I hope you can. I really don’t want to go back.”