Page 33 of Knife in the Back (New Orleans #4)

The city welcomed over a million people during Mardi Gras season, and this season had been longer than most. Fat Tuesday was in a week, but it was late this year. Early March instead of mid-February like it had been the year before.

People kept pouring in, looking to party, and a few of them had “partied” with teenagers against their will.

It made her ill to think about. She wondered where the teens were being held.

She wondered if they had anyone searching for them.

She wondered if any of them were being sold for sex at that very moment.

“How many times did you follow her?” Burke asked. “You didn’t answer me last night.”

She jerked out of her grim thoughts, grateful for the interruption.

It took her a moment to remember what she’d been saying.

Winnifred Timms. “For several weeks.” She waited for him to shake his head at her folly, because what she’d done had been foolish.

If she’d been caught, Winnifred could have pressed charges against Naomi for stalking.

“What else did you see?” he asked.

No recriminations would be coming, she realized, because he would have done the same thing. “Sometimes nothing. She’d go to the grocery store or to the park to run. She’s pretty damn fast.”

“You followed her on foot?”

“I did. I’m fast, too. In even better shape now than I was before prison.”

“Lots of time to work out, huh?”

“Yes. And one of the friends I made there had been a personal trainer. She gave us sessions on the barter system.”

“What did you trade?”

“A blanket that I’d crocheted. She liked cozy things.”

“What was she in for?”

“She killed her husband.”

Burke flinched. “Oh. Why?”

“He slept with her sister. She allowed that her reaction may have been extreme.”

He choked on a laugh. “May have been?”

“May have been,” she repeated. “Now, she deserved to be in prison. She even said so. But it’s a shock, when you first find out that your husband’s been cheating. She just…reacted. And she’s paying for that. As she should.”

“What did you do? When you found out?”

“Got a lawyer and took Jimmy to the cleaners. We sold the house and I bought a much smaller one.”

“Which you sold to pay for Mason Lord to defend you after your arrest.”

She sighed, because that hadn’t ended well. “Yeah. There wasn’t much left over, but I don’t need much these days. I learned to be a minimalist after five years in a cell.”

He stopped for a traffic light and turned to look at her. “So what did you find out about Winnifred other than she’s not as fast a runner as you are?”

“The older guy she was seeing is married.”

The light turned green and he started driving again. “How do you know that?”

“Winnifred went to a fancy restaurant one day, all dolled up. Unfortunately, he showed up with another woman on his arm. Winnifred looked like she’d been slapped in the face when she saw them.”

“She didn’t know he was married?”

“Oh, she knew. I overheard that much when he came back out of the restaurant a few minutes after going in. He’d seen her waiting outside and was not happy that she’d invaded his space.

He demanded to know how she’d known he’d be there and she said she’d heard his secretary making the lunch reservation.

She’d assumed it was for her and him, not him and his wife.

I think Winnifred worked for him, at least then.

I don’t know if she quit or was transferred, but that didn’t stop them from continuing to see each other.

He’d always go up to her apartment, but they didn’t go out together to any more restaurants. Not that I saw.”

“And they never saw you?”

“I’m pretty sure they didn’t. I’m good at fading into the woodwork.” She hadn’t always been, but she’d honed the talent in prison. It had kept her safe and out of trouble more times than she could count.

Burke was quiet for a long, long moment, appearing to be deep in thought. Then he blurted out, “Are you happy at the flower shop, Naomi?”

She blinked at the topic change. “Very much so. Why?”

“Because I’m always looking for good investigators. I think you’d fit right in.”

Once again, he’d validated her skills. “As one of your part-timers?”

“I was hoping for a full-time commitment, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“Can I think about it?” Because the idea appealed for more than just the thrill of investigating. She liked Burke Broussard. He was a good man who’d earned the loyalty and affection of his people. He made a difference in people’s lives.

He’d already made a difference in hers.

That he was sexy and made her stomach flutter was an added bonus.

“Please do. We’re getting close to the Delgados’ neighborhood. Can you navigate us there?”

“Of course. We’re only five minutes out.”

But they saw the smoke three minutes later. Heard the sirens a minute after that.

“Shit,” Burke muttered, pulling over for a fire truck. “How much do you want to bet that it’s the Delgados’ house?”

“Sucker bet, Burke.”

Because the fire truck stopped in front of the address she’d put into her map app, the firefighters jumping out to fight the fire that blazed high into the sky.

Burke turned the SUV around, using his handsfree to make a call.

“Hey,” a deep voice said.

“André,” Burke said. “I have you on speaker. Naomi’s with me. You need to send one of your people to the home of Ernesto Delgado. It’s on fire.”

Holmes made a growling sound. “Fucking hell.”

“Yep. I figured one of your people needs to be on-site when they go in, after the fire’s out. I’m betting you’ll find Ernesto’s body inside.”

“Goddammit,” Holmes snarled. “He was our link to the traffickers. But I already have one of my detectives en route. He was to bring Ernesto in for questioning.”

“Why didn’t you do that last night?” Naomi asked, unable to keep the censure from her voice.

“We tried,” Holmes replied with an edge of his own. “We went to the Delgado house with a warrant for Ernesto’s arrest. And to notify the family of Pablo’s murder, of course. The mother and grandmother claimed they hadn’t seen either of them in days.”

“And the neighbors?” Burke asked. “What did they say?”

“It was midnight by the time we got there,” Holmes said. “We knocked on doors then and again this morning, but no one answered.”

“Not a shock,” Naomi said. “Nobody’s going to talk to the cops after the previous fire in this neighborhood.”

“True enough. I have to go. Thanks, Burke.”

The line went dead.

“Maybe the neighbors will talk to us,” Naomi said quietly. “Because we’re not cops.”

“I was thinking the same thing. We’ll park up the street, out of the way of the emergency vehicles. You stay by my side.”

“I never considered anything else. I’ve no desire to become a target.”

“There’s a Kevlar vest in the back. It’s Val’s, so it should fit you. Put it on under your coat.”

Kevlar? She hadn’t worn a vest since her first year on the force, when she’d been on patrol. But it made sense. “Yes, sir.”

—

Chalmette, Louisiana

Tuesday, February 25, 11:15 a.m.

Yes, sir.

Naomi had said it somewhat dryly, but Burke felt a shiver go down his spine nonetheless.

Damn. He really liked this woman.

Too much? He supposed time would tell. But for now he set his personal feelings aside, because he was here to keep her safe.

And to find out who’d been seen around the Delgado house the night before. André would be angry that they’d poked their noses into the investigation, but that would have to be André’s problem.

He parked the SUV, then helped her with her vest before suiting up himself. He didn’t anticipate the arsonists were waiting around with a sniper rifle, but he was playing it safe.

“Did Antoine include which neighbors had been involved with the suit to get the Delgados evicted?” he asked.

“He didn’t originally, but I emailed him once I saw the smoke. I figured we’d be talking to the neighbors, so I asked him for names and addresses of the ones involved.” She held up her phone. “I have it here.”

So smart. “Excellent. Molly couldn’t have done it better.”

His heart squeezed at the pleased look on her face. She held herself so much taller than she had the morning before. It was like watching a flower blossom and turn its face to the sun. “Then let’s go.”

The first five houses were a bust. Either no one was home or no one wanted to answer the door, so they were surprised when a knock on the sixth door got a response.

An elderly Black woman glared up at them. According to Antoine, this would be Mrs.Eleanor Jackson, age eighty-two. She was a widow and a retired clerk for the court of Orleans Parish. “I don’t want whatever it is that you’re selling. Go away.”

Burke found himself taking a step back, intimidated despite the fact that the woman was, at the most, five feet tall.

“We aren’t selling anything, Mrs.Jackson,” Naomi said warmly. “And we’re not cops. We’re just trying to get information about the Delgado brothers.”

Eleanor’s glare intensified. “You have a death wish, girl?” She pointed to the burning home, six houses away. “Don’t you see that fire?”

Naomi nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I do. But…” She hesitated and the woman’s eyes narrowed.

“But what?”

“But one of the Delgados tried to abduct my sixteen-year-old son yesterday.”

“Thugs. Your son’s okay?”

“He is, thank you. Someone intervened and helped him. But the man who tried to take him is dead. Pablo Delgado.”

The woman sighed heavily. “What’s your name?”

“Naomi Cranston.”

“And him?”

Burke cleared his throat. “Burke Broussard, ma’am.”

“Wait here.” The woman closed her door with a soft click , leaving Naomi and Burke standing on her front porch.

“I’m so rusty,” Naomi murmured. “I haven’t done this kind of work since I was on patrol. You know, dealing with the public.”

“Wouldn’t know it to watch you.”

Her slow smile was more confident, and he knew he’d said the right thing. “Thank you, Burke.”

The front door opened and the small woman reappeared, still glaring up at them. “You a dirty cop?” she asked Naomi bluntly.