Page 64 of Knife in the Back (New Orleans #4)

“In one of the shops,” the shoe man said.

“My gun convinced the owner to open it early. He got the first syringe. She got the second. I locked them in the shop owner’s office.

There’s an access alley behind a gate that I can drive into and load them up.

As soon as we get Broussard settled, I’ll go back for their bodies.

The shop doesn’t open till ten, so we have time. ”

Bodies. Oh God. Burke wanted to scream, but he couldn’t draw enough breath. Val.

“And the security footage?”

“Scrubbed everywhere that we were. Street cams, coffee shop cams, the shop owner’s cams. Not my first rodeo, sir.”

“Good.”

No, not good , Burke thought, feeling the bumps in the road as they drove away. Not good at all.

“Drop me off in the next block,” Kaleb said. “I need to create my alibi.”

—

The Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana

Thursday, February 27, 8:30 a.m.

Naomi sat on the edge of Burke’s bed, dressed and ready to go downstairs. Her gaze was fixed on the bedroom door, which Burke had closed on his way out. She didn’t like closed doors, but opening it meant leaving the room.

She was hesitating.

Not because she regretted what they’d done. She had no regrets whatsoever. What they’d done together…

It had been magical. And exactly what she’d needed.

Exactly what she’d wanted.

She’d missed the touch of a man who cared about her. She wasn’t certain she’d truly ever had that, not even when she and Jimmy were first starting out.

Jimmy’s abuse and manipulation had been wrong.

She’d deserved better.

She still did.

She shivered, remembering the way Burke had made her feel.

How he’d wanted her.

How she wanted him again.

So, no. She wasn’t ashamed. But she was hesitant to go downstairs. Her son might know, and that would be awkward. It might even set back the small bit of progress they’d made.

But life was short and tomorrows were not guaranteed. She’d sacrificed her freedom for her son. For five long years she’d survived a hellhole of a prison. To keep him safe.

Maybe I’m entitled to a little pleasure.

Either way, she was going to have to face Burke’s people at some point. She didn’t think they’d be upset with her. Burke seemed happy and that seemed to make his people happy.

So she stood and headed for the bedroom door, only to veer away when the photos on the mantel of the fireplace in his bedroom caught her eye.

You’re procrastinating.

True. But she was also learning more about the man whose bed she’d shared.

He had a few photos on the mantel downstairs, mostly of his mother and uncle and his godsons, but the mantel in his bedroom was crowded with photos, all of which carried a thin layer of dust. He’d mentioned that a housekeeper came in weekly, but it didn’t seem that his room was within her cleaning purview.

Naomi went to the en suite bathroom to get a damp washcloth, returning to the mantel to clean the frames as she studied each one.

There were several faded photos of a young woman with light brown hair and a joyous smile.

This must be Kyra.

In most of the photos, Kyra stood alone, but there were a few where she stood with others, including a very young Burke Broussard. In those photos she gazed up at him with shining eyes. She’d loved him, too.

Naomi gave the frames some TLC, setting each one down with the reverence they deserved. Burke’s first love.

I’m sorry you didn’t live to see the man he is today.

Because that man is special.

She checked out the rest of the photos, cleaning each frame as she went. There were several of the godsons he was missing so much.

She hoped his meeting with Kaleb was going well. She hoped that Burke would soon be allowed to see the boys who he so clearly loved.

She returned the photos of the boys to the mantel and picked up the next photo. It was of Burke with a couple. All three appeared to be in their twenties. The woman was pregnant and looked so happy. She’d laid her head on the shoulder of the man standing on her other side.

Naomi frowned. The man looked familiar.

Her heart began to race. Very familiar. But it couldn’t be.

No.

She set down the photo and snatched up the next one. The couple was a few years older. They were at the beach, a setting sun behind them. The woman wore a modest swimsuit, the man a pair of trunks. He was shirtless, the silver chain he wore around his neck contrasting with his bronzed skin.

There was a ring on the chain, but she didn’t look at that.

Not yet, even though she knew, deep down, that it was the ring. The one she’d seen before.

For this one horrible moment in time, she stared at the man’s face.

This is Kaleb.

Oh my God. This is Kaleb.

But it can’t be him. Because…

“Burke,” she whispered, horrified.

No, no, no.

Frame in hand, she ran to the bedroom door and threw it open. “Molly! Val! Antoine!” she shouted. “Molly!”

Molly ran up the stairs, meeting her at the second-floor landing. The woman had her gun drawn and was looking around for a threat. “What’s wrong?”

She thrust the photo at Molly. “Who is this man?”

Because maybe I’m wrong. Please let me be wrong.

Molly frowned. “That’s Kaleb Marchand, Burke’s best friend. He’s the CEO of—”

No. “Molly, listen. I saw him. He was with Winnifred Timms. They went to dinner together. He went to her condo on Poydras. They were kissing, Molly. This man was with Winnifred Timms.”

“Oh no.” Molly paled, instantly understanding. “Are you sure?”

“What’s wrong?” Antoine asked, rushing from the second-floor study.

“Kaleb Marchand,” Molly said tightly. “He’s involved. Dammit, Antoine. The guy we’re looking for is Kaleb.”

“That can’t be,” Antoine protested. “Not Kaleb. We know him.”

Heart pounding, Naomi grabbed the photo and held it to her face, squinting to better see the ring around the man’s neck.

It was silver filigree.

It was a wedding band.

It was exactly as she remembered from six years ago.

“This is the ring,” she said, feeling suddenly numb. “This is the ring I saw in the evidence room. We need to warn Burke.”

Kaleb’s ring had been put into evidence the week before she was arrested.

Antoine already had his phone to his ear. “He’s not answering. Where is he?”

Molly met Naomi’s gaze. Naomi saw her own horror reflected there.

“He went to meet with Kaleb,” Naomi whispered. “I don’t know where.”

“He took Val,” Molly said, visibly trying to hold herself together. “He’ll be okay.” She dialed on her own phone. “I’ll warn Val. You keep trying Burke, Antoine.”

Antoine nodded grimly.

But it was no use. Neither of them was picking up.

“Can you track their phones?” Naomi asked.

Antoine nodded again. “Burke’s is at a coffee shop on Canal. Val’s is…next door in a souvenir shop.”

“I’ll go,” Molly said. “Stay here, Naomi. He needs you safe.”

She wasn’t sure she could even move. “Hurry.”

—

The Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana

Thursday, February 27, 8:45 a.m.

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” the coffee shop server asked Kaleb politely.

Translation: You’re taking up a table and you need to leave.

Exactly as Kaleb had intended.

“I’m so sorry. I’ve been waiting for a friend and he never showed up.”

The server glanced at the line that had formed at the door. “Well, if I can’t get you anything else…”

Kaleb sighed heavily. “Let me send my friend a text and I’ll be going.”

“Thank you,” she said gratefully and headed to the next table.

Kaleb typed a message to Burke’s phone. I’ve been waiting for you for 90 mins. Where the hell are you? I can’t wait any longer. I guess you don’t want to help after all.

He hit send, pleased. If someone hadn’t taken Burke’s phone from the street, his people would find it soon and read his texts. He’d been sending increasingly impatient texts to Burke for the last hour.

Even if someone had stolen Burke’s phone from the street, Kaleb had no doubt that Antoine would be able to hack into Burke’s phone records and see the texts.

He tossed a large cash tip to the table and paused at the counter where the manager was assisting the barista through the morning rush. “Sir? Do you know Burke Broussard?”

Of course he does. Burke was well known here. This was his favorite coffee shop.

“I do, yes. Why?”

“I was supposed to meet him here this morning, but he didn’t show. If he does come in, can you tell him that Kaleb was here?”

The manager smiled. “Of course, sir. Have a nice day.”

Kaleb walked out of the shop and drew a deep breath before arranging for an Uber. He’d head to the company parking lot where he’d left his car.

Then to the warehouse where Stanley had dumped Burke.

Part of him hoped that Stanley had killed him, that he’d find Burke’s body and wouldn’t have to talk to him again. The betrayal in Burke’s eyes had hit him harder than he’d expected.

But that was Burke’s own fault. Shouldn’t’ve poked his nose where it didn’t belong.

Stanley had likely followed his instructions, though. The former Marine still took orders seriously, despite having been dishonorably discharged ten years before.

Besides, Stanley would want to take his time with Burke, to make sure his old commanding officer suffered. Stanley had a lot of anger to work through.

His cell phone rang while he was in the Uber, on his way to his own car. It was a number he didn’t recognize, but he did recognize the caller’s voice.

“Kaleb Marchand?” the man asked.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“André Holmes. I’m calling because Burke Broussard has gone missing.”

Ah. The call he’d been expecting, just not from the person. He’d expected it to come from Molly Sutton or Antoine Holmes. Not from Lucien Farrow, because he was sitting outside Kaleb’s house. But that they’d called André Holmes wasn’t a huge surprise. Burke and André had been tight for years.

He answered with the concern he’d practiced. “Missing? When? How?”

“This morning. He told one of his people that he was meeting you.”

“He was supposed to, but he never showed. I just left the coffee shop on Canal. I waited for over an hour.”