Page 67 of Knife in the Back (New Orleans #4)

“But…” Burke returned his gaze to Kaleb’s face. “Gaffney threatened the boys. Your children.”

“He thought that would work. I did, too, to be honest.”

“And you were angry when it didn’t. When I still said no.”

“You don’t care about my sons, Burke. You made that fact abundantly clear when you risked their lives.”

“But Gaffney wouldn’t have harmed them.”

“You didn’t know that.”

No, Burke hadn’t. “And if I’d said yes? Would you have revealed yourself to me then? As my new master?” He said those last words bitterly.

Kaleb’s lips twitched. “Your new master. I like that. No, I wouldn’t have ‘revealed myself’ to you. I would have thought you were gathering evidence against us. But I would have allowed you to participate. Enough to get you arrested, at least. Put away in prison. Where you would have been killed.”

“Like you tried to have Naomi killed. You put that inmate up to stabbing her.” Six times.

“She’s remarkably resilient. But she will die. Especially,” Kaleb added mockingly, “since you’re no longer around to protect her.”

Burke fisted his hands behind him. He wanted to rush Kaleb, wanted to take him down, but he had no illusions that the man wouldn’t kill him if given the provocation.

So he stayed put until his thoughts settled. “The assistant. How am I responsible for him?”

“You know him. He hates you nearly as much as I do. Stanley’s wanted to kill you for years. Ever since you got him tossed out of the Marines.”

Stanley? He didn’t remember—

Oh. Wayne Stanley. He’d killed another Marine in a fight. Not intentionally, but Stanley had been convicted of manslaughter and dishonorably discharged. Burke had broken up the fight and held Stanley down until the MPs had come to take him away.

Stanley had been a mean, arrogant SOB.

And then Kaleb’s words registered. Stanley had wanted to kill him for years.

You’ve been living on borrowed time for years. Was that what Winnifred had meant? Had she been talking about Wayne Stanley? No, not only Wayne Stanley. Kaleb, too.

More details were slotting into place. “You let me get away from Cresswell and Gaffney. You let me survive leaving the NOPD. Cresswell never called my bluff when I confronted him about hiring male prostitutes.”

“Number one, you didn’t have actual proof or you’d have used it. You wouldn’t have let Cresswell continue being a dirty cop. Number two, yes, I let you survive leaving the NOPD. Your death would have raised too many questions. Your partner would have kicked up a fuss.”

Burke’s partner, who’d been a good cop. A good man. Who’d later been murdered for doing the right thing after Burke had left the force. “Were you involved in his murder, too?”

“No. I had nothing to do with his death. Wish I had, though. It tore you up.”

Burke swallowed. “You went with me. To his funeral.”

“It was always nice to see you fall apart.”

“Did you kill my uncle? My mother? Kyra?”

Kaleb’s jaw tightened. “Of course not. She was my sister. And too good for you.”

Burke believed him. It was a relief that Kaleb hadn’t killed his mother and uncle.

Hadn’t killed his own sister. “On that we can agree.” Another terrible thought presented itself.

“Your father?” Something flickered in Kaleb’s eyes.

Guilt? “You did. You killed your father. Did he find out about your gambling problem?” A twitch in Kaleb’s jaw told Burke he was right. “You sonofabitch.”

“Careful,” Kaleb said lightly. “I can still kill you.”

But Kaleb could have had Burke killed hundreds of times over the years and hadn’t. Kaleb didn’t want to kill him.

There was still something there. Some semblance of a relationship, even if Kaleb didn’t want that to be true.

Burke hoped it was enough to keep him alive until his people found him.

Kaleb took a step backward. “Try to make yourself comfortable. It won’t be long.”

Burke had so many questions, but one rose to the top when he saw Kaleb lift his left hand, a key clutched in his fist. The dim bulb reflected off the band on Kaleb’s ring finger.

“Your ring.”

Kaleb paused. “Excuse me?”

“That ring you’re wearing. That’s the ring Naomi saw, isn’t it?”

Burke, as best man, had held that ring during Kaleb and Juliette’s wedding.

But he’d never paid attention to what it looked like.

Kaleb put his key in the lock, as that was the only way to open the door from this side. “Her and her stupid audit,” he said. “If the NOPD had done a formal audit, it would have turned up a lot of missing drugs.”

“And if she’d reported the missing ring, it would have connected to you,” Burke said bitterly.

“That too. My wedding ring was one of a kind. Juliette had it custom-made for me.”

“So it was identifiable as yours. And you’d likely left some DNA on it.”

Kaleb’s smile was cool. “That was a major concern, yes. We had to put the ring back long enough for her to report that it wasn’t missing anymore. Otherwise, she would have made a fuss. Requested a formal audit. I couldn’t afford an audit.”

“So you ruined her life.”

Kaleb met his gaze, his eyes cold. “You’ve ruined your share of lives, Burke. You have no room to talk.”

Kaleb opened the door and made his exit.

The door closed and the light went off.

Burke was once again trapped in the darkness.

He slid down the wall until he sat on the cold floor.

Had he ruined lives? Yes, if you called putting criminals away ruining their lives. He’d never ruined an innocent life.

Kaleb had ruined many innocent lives.

So fuck you, Kaleb.

His “brother” had gaslighted him for long enough. The next time Kaleb came in, Burke would end his life.

He just needed to free his hands first.

With the proper tools, even flex-cuffs could be broken.

Luckily he had those tools. Kaleb had taken his guns and his knives and his toolkit, but he’d left Burke his boots.

He grimaced as he rolled to his stomach and kicked his feet up so that he could begin removing his bootlaces. He remembered the conversation he’d had with Naomi. She still hoarded food after prison. He still carried a tool kit with a lock pick and laced his boots with Kevlar kite string.

He was grateful that old habits died hard. Kaleb had taken his toolkit but had left his bootlaces alone.

He had a way to break free, but it was going to hurt.

—

Uptown, New Orleans, Louisiana

Thursday, February 27, 1:05 p.m.

Kaleb closed the door to the soundproofed room and leaned against it. He’d intended to shoot that sonofabitch in the head.

But he couldn’t do it.

And Burke knew it, the smug bastard.

Every time Kaleb had considered pulling the trigger, he’d seen them as kids. Lying on the grass in that damn courtyard at Burke’s house, looking at the stars and dreaming of what might be.

As much as he hated Burke, he had to face the fact that he could not be the one to kill him. If he’d really wanted to, he would have done so years ago.

Stanley was eager to do the job and Kaleb had promised him that, when the time was right, it would be Stanley’s responsibility. More like Stanley’s pleasure.

I should have let him do it this morning.

But he hadn’t and Stanley had known why. The man’s gaze had been filled with contempt for Kaleb’s weakness.

Killing his own father had been so easy. Killing Burke was not, and Kaleb wasn’t sure of the reason.

Wayne Stanley could do it when he returned. Which should be soon. He’d gotten a text from Stanley three hours ago saying he had picked up the two bodies in the souvenir shop and had just dumped them deep in the bayou where they’d never be found.

The trip was two hours each way in the best of traffic.

Today, it could take twice that long. So Stanley would return soon and he’d kill Burke and that would be that.

Burke’s people might make noise about his involvement, but there wasn’t a speck of evidence to back them up.

And if they found evidence, he had enough people on his payroll in the NOPD to make any investigations go away.

He stared at the ring on his finger. Naomi had remembered it. They’d figured out why she’d been targeted. But Naomi doesn’t know it’s my ring.

Kaleb had no compunction about killing Naomi Cranston. She was probably hiding in Burke’s house after being shot at the day before. If he had to burn Burke’s fancy house to the ground, he’d smoke the bitch out. He’d kill them all.

“Marchand.”

Kaleb looked up to find his new partner approaching. He hated that he’d had to cut Desi Ortiz in. He didn’t trust the gang leader as far as he could throw him. But he didn’t have much of a choice. He needed more hands to manage this weekend’s business.

Kaleb dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Desi.”

“We have some dead space in the schedule.”

“I told you that we would. Clients want to see the parade and they’ll be jockeying for the best viewing position.

” People had been lining up for hours for the Krewe of Babylon’s parade.

“We’ll be full again afterward. Every slot is booked.

Maya is taking this lull to prep the rooms and the inventory for the next round. ”

“Okay,” Desi said. “They’re paying up front?”

“Cash or their appointment goes to the next person on the waiting list.”

“I’ll want to count the cash with you at the end of the night. To make sure there are no errors in the splitting of the profits.”

Kaleb rose to his full height, annoyed when Desi looked bored. “Are you suggesting that I’d steal from you?”

Desi smiled. “Of course not. It is standard operating procedure. Forgive my insistence, but I need to be sure that our business shows a profit.”

“It will.” It’d better.

“I want to see your expenses. I’m not pleased with how much money you’ve spent on this warehouse. Clients who wish to purchase inventory such as ours don’t need fancy trappings. They simply want to fuck kids. There are cheaper ways to do this.”

“This is not a low-class establishment.”

“Then you’ll have to charge more. It appears that you don’t want me to see your P&Ls.”

Kaleb felt himself bristling, even knowing that this was Ortiz’s power play. “Not at all.” He kept his tone level. Civil. “If you’ll follow me to my office, I’ll be happy to review our expenses.”

“Thank you. Is that also where you keep the cash?”

The cash was Ortiz’s bigger concern, Kaleb knew. “It is,” he lied. He only kept a small part of the cash in the office. There was no way he was sharing everything he brought in with Ortiz, or he’d never turn a profit. “This way, please.”