Page 41 of Knife in the Back (New Orleans #4)

Malice glittered in the younger woman’s eyes. “You can’t prove anything, so don’t even try.”

“I don’t have to,” Naomi said, proud that she was maintaining her calm.

“You used a fake ID with my name and your face to open at least one bank account. That’s irrefutable.

Pair it with the fact that this happened six years after you conveniently discovered a bag of drugs—that turned out not to be drugs—under the back seat of my car and it doesn’t bode well for you.

We saw Cresswell in prison today,” she added, wondering at the reaction she’d get from the abrupt topic change.

Fear passed over Winnifred’s face. “I don’t know who that is.”

“Liar,” Naomi said softly. “You’re still young enough that you probably don’t have any children Gaffney can threaten. How else will they ensure your compliance?”

Winnifred swallowed hard, then pasted on a smile. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think Cresswell is still alive because he’s a high-profile prisoner,” Burke said. “Him dying in custody would raise too many questions and there would be investigations. But you are not high profile. No one will launch an investigation if you mysteriously die in prison. You are expendable.”

Winnifred glanced up over their heads before her sneer returned. “So are you, Mr.Broussard. You’ve been living on borrowed time for years.”

Startled, Naomi glanced up at Burke, who was frowning. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

But Winnifred just smiled, no trace of fear remaining. She looked…cocky. “I think your time is up.”

Burke had reached out a hand toward Winnifred, but Naomi never got a chance to know what he’d planned to do. Turning, Naomi looked in the direction that Winnifred had just glanced and froze.

There, on the deck above them, was a man with a rifle. Pointed at them.

“Gun!” Naomi shouted as she grabbed onto Burke’s jacket. “Get down!” She dropped to the pavement, dragging Burke down with her, then grunted when he landed on top of her.

Protecting me.

Naomi struggled, partly to see and partly to breathe. Burke shifted, lifting himself a scant inch that allowed her to do both. To her relief, Devonte had dropped as well, but he’d drawn his gun and was looking around frantically.

Only Winnifred remained standing, her sneer becoming the same smirk she’d aimed at Naomi the night of her arrest.

But then Winnifred’s body crumpled to the garage floor, a neat bullet hole in the center of her forehead.

“Oh my God.” Naomi sucked in air, trying not to let panic overtake her because there was a dead woman mere inches away.

And then there were more shots. Four of them in rapid succession, the bullets hitting the cars around them. Two more shots hit the SUV.

Above her, Burke froze.

Beside her, Devonte swore.

Behind them, the back door of the SUV opened and Antoine shouted, “Get her in here!”

Burke scooped Naomi up and tossed her into the back seat with Antoine, who covered her body with his.

Burke got in the driver’s seat, Devonte in the front seat beside him, both hunkering down. Because the SUV was bullet resistant.

They waited in tense silence, but nothing happened. No more shots, no shouts. No approaching footsteps. Nothing.

Still, they remained hunkered down until they heard police sirens approaching. Until they were surrounded by cruisers.

Until cops yelled at them to exit the vehicle with their hands up.

Naomi sighed. It was going to be a long evening.

—

The Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana

Tuesday, February 25, 8:25 p.m.

“You guys,” André said as he shut the door to the interview room where Burke was sitting.

Naomi, Antoine, and Devonte had all been put in separate rooms. It was standard operating procedure to be interviewed separately, but Burke was still annoyed. Naomi shouldn’t have to be interrogated again.

Not after everything she’d been through. He wondered if she’d ever seen anyone murdered before. He hoped she was all right.

He wanted his eyes on her. He wanted to run his hands over her, to prove that she still breathed.

She’d saved his life today.

“We guys what?” Burke asked wearily. He had blood in his hair and on the back of his neck. It itched something fierce.

“You’re trouble,” André growled, taking the seat beside him. “I muted the speaker. No one can hear us. You okay?”

“Other than seeing a woman shot to death in front of us and being frisked like we were criminals? Sure.”

“I got there as soon as I could. I told the responding officers to treat you gently, that you were not at fault.”

“They were gentle,” Burke acknowledged. “I know they were doing their jobs. It still sucked.”

“Tell me again what Winnifred said.”

“That I was living on borrowed time. And that my time was up. I think she believed the shooter was going to kill us. But he shot her instead.”

“We got it all from the security cameras. The shooter left via one of the stairwells and got into a waiting vehicle.”

“Let me guess,” Burke drawled. “A black SUV with darkly tinted windows and stolen license plates.”

“Yep. What do you think she meant? That you were living on borrowed time?”

“I don’t know.” And it was eating at him. “It might be that my reprieve from consequences after rejecting Gaffney’s offers and threats has come to an end. That my bluff against Cresswell is no longer going to protect me. It could be any number of things.”

André went still, and Burke knew that expression. Something had happened and André was hesitant to share.

“Just tell me,” Burke said. “I wanna go home and wash my hair.”

André sighed again. “Cresswell’s dead.”

Burke reared back. “What? How? When?”

“Poison, probably cyanide, but the ME will confirm. Sometime this afternoon.”

“How did he ingest the cyanide?”

“Pills. Prison officials found a bottle hidden inside his mattress. No idea how long he’d had it.”

“Suicide, then. Or that’s what we’re supposed to think.”

“You got any proof that it wasn’t suicide?”

“No. And it might have been. He was twitchy today. Depressed. Terrified.”

“He came close to talking to you.”

“To Naomi, anyway.”

“I saw the footage. She was good at interrogation. We lost a good cop.”

“When NOPD framed her?” Burke snapped.

André winced. “Not gonna deny it, even though I had nothing to do with it.”

Burke sighed. “I’m sorry. That was a low blow and you don’t deserve it.”

“Thank you,” André said quietly. “Sometimes you get so angry with the NOPD that I fear you’ll lump me in with the others.”

“I know you’re a good man. A good cop. I trust you with my life. I trust you with hers.”

“Naomi’s?”

“Yeah.”

André’s lips turned up. “Look at you. I think you’ve got a crush.”

Burke’s cheeks heated. “Are we twelve?”

“Farrah says I act like it sometimes. But I think wives are supposed to say that we act like children. Keeps us humble. She says to tell you hi.”

Burke loved Farrah, but he wouldn’t let André’s attempt to distract him work. “What are you doing to find the shooter?”

“All the normal things. BOLOs, eyes on the airports, train stations. We put up roadblocks around the airport, but we were way too late for that.”

“If he wants to get out of New Orleans, there are a million places he can do that out of the bayou,” Burke said. “I assume you’ve alerted the Coast Guard.”

“We have. Like I said, all the normal things.”

“Have you brought Gaffney in for questioning?”

“Yep. He denied everything and called his union rep. We cut him loose a half hour ago. Smug fucker.”

Burke met André’s gaze. “One of my sources tells me that Gaffney was investigated by PIB after Cresswell’s arrest.”

“Antoine,” André muttered.

“I have many sources,” Burke countered. “What was the result of that investigation?”

“Nothing. Nobody found anything.”

“And the investigators? Who were they?”

“Your source didn’t tell you?”

“Only that he recognized the names and that he believes that they’re good cops.

But something stinks here, André. You and I both know it.

Gaffney came to me twice to try to force me to steal and sell drugs confiscated during busts.

I can’t be the only one he did that to. There has to be evidence. He can’t be that smart or that lucky.”

“I’ll look into the PIB cops myself,” André promised.

That would have to be enough. For now. “Something’s rotten there. Do you agree?”

“It seems so, but I don’t want to judge until I know for sure.”

Burke got that. André was careful. He did things by the book. But that hadn’t gotten them the truth about Gaffney, and now Cresswell would never be able to confess, even if he’d been ready to.

“Was Cresswell offered WITSEC protection?”

André blinked in surprise, then nodded. “He was. He refused. Those were among the last words he spoke before going silent two and a half years ago.”

“Did Mrs.Cresswell know what he’d been offered?”

“I don’t know. We didn’t tell her.” André’s brows lifted. “Why?”

“I was going to offer her protection for her kids. They’re nearly adults, but Cresswell clearly feared for their safety. But now that he’s dead…” He sighed. “I don’t know if the threat to them will remain. She needs to be warned.”

“The threat to you appears to remain,” André said quietly.

“Borrowed time,” Burke murmured. “Yeah, I know.” And he still couldn’t figure out what Winnifred had meant. “I thought that with Cresswell in prison, I didn’t have to fear him anymore. Naomi also thought that she was free and clear. But I don’t think either of us is safe.”

“I don’t, either. I’d like to put you in a safe house, but you’re going to say no, just like Naomi did. She doesn’t trust that NOPD will keep her safe, and I can’t say that I blame her. She has one hundred percent trust in you, though.”

Burke felt the burden of responsibility even as his heart again fluttered like he was a teenager. “I will do my best to be worthy of that trust.”

“You always do. What are you going to do next?”

“Go home. Wash off the blood. Eat a decent meal. And go the fuck to sleep.”

André just looked at him. “You know what I mean.”

“I know, but those are the best answers I have because my brain is fried.” He pinched the bridge of his nose because his head was aching from where he’d hit it on the pavement when Naomi had yanked him off his feet.

To save my life. “Somebody tipped off Winnifred that the bank fraud had been exposed or she wouldn’t have known to run. Do we know how she knew?”

“You guys tipped her off. Bank cameras caught her coming into the bank while you were there. She immediately turned and left. We confiscated her cell phone at the scene, but it was a burner, so requesting records isn’t something we can do quickly.

We’re trying to break into it to see if she has emails or messages or received any calls around five this evening.

Your ‘source’ can keep you updated.” He used finger quotes and a very dry tone.

Burke only grinned. “Okay.”

André scowled. “That was not supposed to be an endorsement of your source.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Then wipe that damn grin off your face.”

Burke complied, suddenly feeling more tired than he had in a very long time. “Have you searched Winnifred’s condo yet?”

“Not yet. We can’t prove which unit she lived in, so we’re getting a warrant for the building’s security footage. The building’s management was not cooperative.”

“But we have witnesses who saw her going in and out of the building—Naomi and Devonte.”

“I’ve noted this on the warrant, but they didn’t see which unit she entered. I’ve got uniforms outside, noting who comes and goes. We need to do this by the book so that whatever evidence we gather is admissible.”

Burke wanted to argue, but André was right. “When can we go?”

“Now. I just wanted to touch base with you and your people.”

“Including Antoine?”

“Including Antoine.”

“Is there going to be any issue with him getting his laptops back?”

“Of course not.”

Whether the laptops would have been tampered with was another story.

Luckily Antoine had everything backed up to his own cloud and had probably wiped his laptops with his phone as soon as the cops had arrived at the garage and told them to exit the SUV with their hands up.

The man was very serious about security and Burke appreciated that.

He’d also shielded Naomi’s body with his own while they’d waited in tense silence for more bullets to be fired. Burke appreciated that, too.

“What about the arson at the Delgados’ home?”

“Under investigation. It was purposely set, but so far, no leads.”

Burke forced his bouncing brain back to Winnifred. “Do you know where Winnifred planned to go?”

“Ecuador.”

Burke studied his friend. André didn’t lie, but there was something he was holding back. “What else aren’t you telling me?”

“She had a handgun in the glove box of her car. A Bersa Thunder .380.”

“Like the one the female driver pulled on Harrison when he saved Everett.” But that wasn’t what André was holding back.

Burke had known him long enough to spot his tells.

“So that’s another connection to Pablo Delgado—and therefore to the sex trafficking ring, because Pablo was ID’d by the trafficking victim who nearly died during the Super Bowl. ”

Ah. There it was. Something flickered in André’s dark eyes. Something profoundly sad. Burke leaned closer. “Tell me,” he murmured.

André swallowed. “There were five bodies found in the Delgado home—Ernesto, his mother, his grandmother…and two teenagers.”

Burke’s heart hurt. More victims of trafficking was the most likely explanation. “Do you think his mother and grandmother knew they were there?”

“I don’t know. So far, none of the neighbors will talk to us. I think you poached the only one who would have been willing.”

“Eleanor wouldn’t have talked to you. She doesn’t trust the NOPD to keep her safe, either. I’m sorry, André, but that’s the truth of it.”

André nodded stiffly. “I have to fix this, Burke.”

“I know. And I’ll help you.”

“I know you will.” André stood, tugging his jacket hem. “Let’s spring you from this joint.”

Burke stood, groaning when his muscles protested. Dropping to concrete pavement hurt like a bitch. “Music to my ears.”