Page 45 of Knife in the Back (New Orleans #4)

Uptown, New Orleans, Louisiana

“Nice place,” Naomi murmured as they drove up the Cresswells’ street.

Burke eyed the line of news vans. He’d had to bypass a few reporters outside his own house, but there were a lot more reporters here. That a former NOPD captain had taken his own life in prison was incredibly newsworthy.

Not that Burke was sure he believed that Cresswell had taken his own life, but the bottom line was that he was dead and would never be able to tell them why Naomi had been chosen.

Or why Winnifred Timms had said that Burke was living on borrowed time.

“It’s not as nice as the house they had before Cresswell went to prison. That was one of the old mansions in the Garden District. After Cresswell’s arrest, Amanda sold that house and moved here.”

“I don’t think she’ll talk to us,” Naomi said when he’d brought the SUV to a stop in the driveway. “She’ll say we’re responsible for her husband’s death because we visited him yesterday, which we probably are, indirectly, of course. Were they happy together, the Cresswells?”

“I don’t know. The rumors of him hiring prostitutes around the time I left NOPD were credible enough that he didn’t deny them when I confronted him.”

“That’s how you got out, right? You held those rumors over his head.”

Shame washed over him. “If I’d had the proof then, I would have used it. I would have gone to the press so that it couldn’t be swept under the rug.”

“But?” Naomi asked.

“But I should have searched for that proof when I was free. I didn’t and he was allowed to continue playing his games. If I’d done something, he wouldn’t have sent you to prison. Our kids wouldn’t be scared and in hiding right now.”

“You came right from the Corps into the NOPD, didn’t you?” she asked.

He blinked, surprised by the topic change. “Yes, why?”

“How much combat did you see?”

“Two deployments.”

“I understand that Phin’s service dog is because he has PTSD.”

Ah. He could see where she was going with this. “He does. But I don’t have PTSD.”

“Don’t you?” she countered. “You lost your mother, your fiancée, and your uncle when you were eighteen. Went right into the military, where I’m sure you saw terrible things.

Then you dropped right into Cresswell’s clutches in the NOPD.

You might not have PTSD, Burke, but you were living a chaotic life.

Of course you’d crave peace and quiet. Of course you’d want to just live your life.

That you continued in some form of law enforcement during the past six years is laudable.

That you didn’t fight back harder is understandable.

Once you’d opened your PI firm, you finally had control over your life, and looking back was painful.

You moved forward, which, at the time, was the exact right thing for you to do. ”

Her words were the balm he hadn’t realized he needed. “You give me too much credit.”

“I don’t think you give yourself enough. I think you expect a lot more of yourself than you do of your people.”

He didn’t want to talk about this. “We should go in and talk to Amanda Cresswell.”

Naomi grabbed his hand. “Burke, stop. You dishonor yourself by denying your integrity. Most people would be content with simply not committing crimes. You seem to think you should have done more.”

“Because I should have.”

“And now you are. Look at me, please.”

He dragged his gaze to meet hers and saw compassion. Approval. Maybe even pride. It stole his breath. “We need to—”

“We need to go, I know. But first, tell me this. Do you push Phin to be an investigator?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s not ready.”

“When will he be ready?”

Burke was annoyed. “He might never be ready. He’s doing what he needs to do to exist within the limitations of his PTSD. He’s starting to thrive.”

“He’s living his life the best way he knows how?”

“Yes.”

“Then why is it different for you?” she asked gently. “Burke, you went through a lot of life-changing experiences. You went from job to job, but in every case, you were focused on service. On helping. That you didn’t push yourself outside of your own limitations is not a bad thing.”

He sighed. “You maneuvered me into that nicely.”

She smiled smugly. “I did, didn’t I? But I’m right.

You needed the time and the sense of safety before moving against Gaffney and Cresswell, even if you don’t want to admit it.

That you continued a life of service while you were healing makes you a good man.

” She lifted his hand to her cheek. “You’re a good man , Burke Broussard.

Any one of your people will tell you this.

Don’t let your own mind tell you otherwise. ”

At the moment, he only cared that she thought so. He’d leaned toward her, the console separating them. She’d leaned toward him, his hand on her cheek.

He cupped her jaw. He caressed her lip with his thumb and her breath caught.

She was watching him, her warm, dark brown eyes now expectant. Hopeful.

Burke couldn’t have denied her anything. He brushed his lips against hers in the lightest of kisses. He felt her lips curve, heard her contented sigh.

And then he remembered that they were surrounded by reporters. “I don’t want our first kiss to end up online,” he murmured, but he couldn’t pull away. Honeysuckle filled his head and he wanted to sink into it.

He wanted to sink into her.

“I think it’s too late for that,” she said dryly. She was the one to pull away. He feared he might see irritation or even anger in her expression, but she was smiling. “But I’ve had my photo online before. I think it’ll be better to be seen kissing you than being led out of court in handcuffs.”

“I’d give everything I own to erase that experience from your mind.”

“The handcuffs or the kiss?”

He chuckled, which he suspected had been her intention. “The cuffs.”

“Good.” She tugged on the lower edge of the Kevlar vest she wore under a turtleneck sweater that hugged her body in all the right places. “Let’s do this.”

They ignored the barrage of questions from the reporters gathered outside.

Why are you here? What did Cresswell tell you yesterday? Who’s your lady friend?

That last one made Naomi chuckle. “Your lady friend?”

“Do you want to be?” Burke asked when they’d stopped at the Cresswells’ front door.

She looked up, studying him for the space of several hard beats of his heart. “Yes. I do.”

He brushed his hand down her spine before resting it at the small of her back. “Good.” With his free hand, he knocked once.

His knuckles were still touching the door when it was abruptly opened. A young man stood at the threshold, glaring at them.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, Broussard,” he gritted out. “Showing up here? Now? And making out in our fucking driveway?”

This would be Matthew, Cresswell’s son. He was seventeen. “I’d like to speak to you and to your mother.”

The glare became a sneer. “And what makes you think we want to speak to you?”

Burke purposely looked over his shoulder, his gaze taking in the reporters before he returned his attention to the young man’s angry face. “I have information for you that I don’t think you want reporters to hear.”

“I don’t want to hear it, either. And my mother definitely does not.”

“Matthew?” came a voice from behind the door. “Let him in. I have some things I’d like to say, too.”

Burke stepped inside the house, his hand sliding from Naomi’s back to grip her hand. He spared a moment to glance at her face, to make sure she was all right.

Her jaw was set, her lips flattened into a thin line. But she wasn’t trembling and she didn’t look scared. She looked grimly determined.

He was in awe of her. She’d survived so much and kept on going.

How could he do any less?

“Mrs.Cresswell,” Burke began once they were inside the house.

Amanda Cresswell was in her midforties and had once been a beautiful woman. But time and life had left her face lined and hard. Her eyes were cold and watchful.

But he saw no malice, so he let himself draw an even breath.

“Come with me,” she ordered, leading them from the foyer to a small sitting room.

Naomi stiffened beside him. He followed her gaze and blinked. Amanda Cresswell wore a prosthetic device on her left hand. A mechanical finger. It appeared to be made of flesh-colored plastic, but the joints were steel, catching the light.

She hadn’t had the prosthetic the only other time Burke had met her. That had been at a holiday party at the Cresswells’ old house, shortly after Burke had had made detective.

They sat on the sofa Amanda Cresswell indicated.

“I’m so sorry,” he said quietly.

“For what?” Amanda demanded, but her tone was not angry. It was cold and detached, but Burke could deal with that.

“I suppose it depends on whether you’re mourning your husband,” Burke said candidly, watching for her reaction.

Amanda dropped her eyes to her hand, the one missing a finger. “I’m not. I mourned the loss of what I’d thought was a marriage more than two years ago.”

“This is my colleague and my…”

“His lady friend,” Naomi said mildly when he hesitated. “I think that’s what the reporters are calling it these days.”

Amanda’s lips twitched. Just once, but it made Burke glad that Naomi had come. She seemed to have a knack for soothing people, for knowing what they needed to hear. For drawing them in.

“Do you have a name, lady friend?” Amanda asked.

“Naomi Cranston. I was a cop until I was framed for stealing evidence and sent to prison for thirty years.”

“You must have been released early,” Amanda said, her tone as mild as Naomi’s. “Or else you got your hands on some very good moisturizer.”

Naomi’s smile was placid, and that was when Burke realized the two women were dueling in a way in which he could not begin to compete.