Diabolical (Shaye Archer Series Book 3) (11 page)

“Shit yeah. I mean, that’s great. I been talking to her some on the phone but it ain’t the same. I want to meet her aunt and see where she’s living. I wonder if her aunt will bring her to meet Saul sometime so Jinx can see the painting I’ve done.”

“You can ask her tonight.”

N
ew Orleans
, Louisiana, Winter 1945

I
t was almost
midnight but he sat behind the ornate desk in his office, waiting for the arrival of the one person he’d hoped he’d never see again. As soon as he’d turned seventeen, he’d inherited all of his deceased father’s holdings. He’d immediately sold the plantation. The only thing contained there was disappointment and death. His mother had gone back east to her people right after his father’s death, leaving the working hands to run the plantation and an attorney to oversee the money until the boy was seventeen, the age his father’s will had indicated he could inherit. The attorney had insisted he spend those five years learning how to manage his father’s vast real estate holdings, but the boy had never had any interest in the plantation, and that would never change.

He learned enough to know if the hands were running things properly and spent the rest of his time learning about manufacturing. As soon as he came into the inheritance, he sold the plantation and used the money to open a plant in New Orleans, making supplies for the war. It seemed ironic that the only reason he’d avoided serving is because of a leg that had never healed properly after his father had broken it. The thing that had made him weak physically had made him strong financially. War was a lucrative business, and his father’s riches quickly turned into his own wealth.

The only thing he’d kept from the plantation was the desk he sat at now.

It had belonged to his father, who’d always considered it one of his prize possessions. Once, when the boy had accidentally scratched one of the legs with his pocketknife, his father had struck him so hard that he couldn’t chew for a week. He’d told the boy he was never allowed near the desk again. Nothing gave him more pleasure now than sitting behind that desk and looking at all the scratches he’d put on it that his father couldn’t touch him for.

But now, the desk seemed to mock him, to remind him that no matter what he did, he couldn’t escape the plantation. That somehow, things would always circle back around to that hateful place with its horrible memories.

The knock on his office door came precisely at midnight. He called out for the man to come in, one hand beneath the desk, clutching his pistol. After all, the voice on the phone could have been anyone. It sounded like the Haitian boy he’d known and the voice on the phone had known what they’d done. Only the four of them knew, and one of them was gone, a casualty of war. He didn’t know about the third son. He’d gone to war as well, but his plantation had gone bankrupt while he was overseas. He’d lost track after that. Or maybe hadn’t wanted to find out was a more honest explanation.

So he had to be careful. The person on the phone might not be who he claimed to be.

But the man who walked through the door looked exactly the same as he had nine years ago. His frame had thickened the way a boy’s does when he becomes a man, but his face and hair looked the same. And there was no mistaking the blue eyes that almost seemed to glow against his dark skin. The man walked up to the desk and took a seat.

“It’s been a long time,” the Haitian said. “Do you remember your promise?”

“I remember a promise made by a scared little boy who thought you could summon the devil.”

The Haitian shrugged. “What you believed isn’t important. What
is
important is that I took care of your problem. I took care of all three problems.”

“You poisoned my father. He wasn’t killed by a demon.”

“You wanted him dead. It doesn’t matter how I accomplished it. Only that I kept my end of the bargain. Now you’re going to keep yours.”

“And if I don’t?”

The Haitian smiled. “Then someone very close to you might die the same way your father did…maybe your lovely wife. And if that were to happen and an old family employee were to tell the police that you’d done this before and in the same manner, well, the police might take a harder look at everything. They might look so hard that your entire world crumbled. And for what? What I want will cost you very little compared to what you gained for my services.”

Sweat rolled down his brow and he fought the urge to tug at the collar of his dress shirt, which suddenly felt constricting. “What do you want?”

“Money, of course. You have no shortage of that.”

“How much?”

“A hundred thousand.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“If it weren’t for me, you’d have nothing, not even your life.”

He knew what the Haitian said was true, but he couldn’t just take a hundred thousand dollars out of the bank without people wondering. “I can’t get it all at one time. Over several months, maybe.”

“Six months then.” The Haitian rose. “That should give you plenty of time. I’ll be here next week at the same time to collect the first payment. I wouldn’t be late if I were you.”

As the office door closed, he reached into the desk and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, taking a huge shot right from the bottle. He had the money. It was a lot, and it would set back his expansion by at least a year, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t risk his wife and everything he’d worked so hard for, all over the man taking advantage of the desperate wishes of a tortured child.

He took another drink. He’d pay the money. No other option existed.

The question was how many times he would be forced to pay again.

S
haye parked
at the curb in front of Cora LeDoux’s house and looked over at Hustle. He’d been quiet the entire drive over and now his expression was a combination of anticipation and fear.

“You’re sure Jinx’s aunt is okay with me visiting?” he asked.

“She wouldn’t have invited you if she wasn’t,” Shaye assured him. “She’s no pushover. Don’t let her physical appearance fool you.”

His shoulders relaxed a little. “Cool.”

“Then let’s not keep them waiting any longer,” she said.

They made their way up the sidewalk to the front door, where Shaye rang the doorbell. Seconds later, the door flew open and Jinx flung her arms around Hustle.

“It’s great to see you,” Jinx said. “It seems like forever, and I know we talk on the phone but it’s not the same. Come inside. Aunt Cora is dying to meet you and we made cookies and this awesome strawberry drink.”

Jinx bounded inside, Hustle trailing behind her toward the kitchen. The girl’s excitement and Hustle’s smile lifted Shaye’s spirits considerably. She closed the door and gave Cora, who was standing just inside the doorway, a quick hug.

“You’ve gained some weight,” Shaye said. “That’s great.”

The last time Shaye had seen Cora, she was struggling with recuperating from chemotherapy for breast cancer. In only a couple of weeks, the color was returning to her face and her body had more fullness to it. She also seemed stronger as she stood. She’d been so weak before that she hadn’t been able to stand for long without shaking.

“Thanks,” Cora said. “Having Jinx around has me eating more often. That girl can pack away some food. I have no idea where she puts it.”

Shaye smiled. “I think it’s a teenager thing. Hustle just ate two hamburgers, a huge order of fries, and a milk shake, and I’ll bet he still eats half of everything you made.”

Cora waved Shaye toward the living room. “Let’s have a seat and chat while they catch up. Jinx will bring us something to drink.”

Shaye sat on the couch as Cora sank into her recliner. Shaye noticed Cora didn’t use the lift feature on the chair this time. Cora’s strength really was improving. A couple seconds later, Jinx came into the room carrying a tray with two strawberry shakes and chocolate chip cookies. She flashed them a quick grin, then hurried back to the kitchen. Cora watched as she went, a big smile on her face.

“She’s been such a joy,” Cora said. “I can’t tell you how much. As soon as she arrived, my energy level picked up, then I started eating more and my sleep improved. The doctor told me things would get better if I ate more, of course, but hearing it is a little different from having a ravenous teen pushing food at you several times a day.”

“I’m so glad you’re doing better. You look like you feel well.”

“Haven’t felt this good in a year.”

“My mom said your case is almost finished. That your sister agreed to sign over parental rights.”

Cora nodded. “Surprised everyone—me, your mother, my attorney—but I just gave a quick prayer of thanks and secured that signature while she was feeling charitable or guilty, whatever the case may be.”

“How is Jinx doing with everything else?”

“She’s enrolled in a summer school program to make up the time she missed. She should be able to join her grade in the fall.” Cora shook her head. “She’s such a bright girl. When I think about what could have been lost, well, it just makes me mad all over again. For her. For Hustle. For all those kids who still don’t have anyone to give them the things they need to make it in this world.”

Shaye nodded. “I took my mom down to the docks to talk to some of the kids there. After the kidnapping thing, they decided they can trust me, for the most part, anyway. A couple of them agreed to go into foster care and have been placed in good homes. The others are wary, and I can’t really blame them. Mom and I will keep working on them.”

“Your mother is a saint for the work she does,” Cora said. “I can’t imagine dealing with the things she does every day and still having such a positive demeanor. I’d be one of those angry old women ready to kill everyone.”

“I would too. I think people like her have a calling for the work. I can’t imagine any other way that they can handle so much more than anyone else could.”

“The same could be said for your work as well. You can’t be in it for the money. Not taking cases for no pay.” Cora smiled.

Shaye laughed. “No. I’m fortunate that money doesn’t have to be one of my considerations, and that’s a great thing. It allows me to help people who couldn’t get help otherwise.”

“Like Hustle and Jinx. But enough about them. Tell me how you’re doing. I know this case must have been a tough one, and with your name all over the news because of your involvement with taking down that Clancy monster…I’m sure you’d rather maintain a low profile.”

“Yeah, but I’m not foolish enough to think it’s possible. Clancy would have been front-page news no matter what, but add my name to the mix and it’s even juicier. It’s something I’ve learned to live with, but not something I’ll ever enjoy.”

“Well, you handle it all so calmly. Are you working on a new case now?”

Shaye hesitated for a moment, but then decided that telling Cora the bare bones of what she was currently working on wouldn’t be any big deal. Chances were she’d hear about it from Jinx through Hustle sooner or later.

“Actually,” Shaye said, “I’m working on an old case for the first time. My own.”

Cora’s eyes widened. “Wow. I can’t imagine how stressful that’s got to be. I can’t think of anything I have to offer, but if there’s anything I can do, please let me know. Would you mind my asking why you decided to do this now?”

Shaye looked into the kitchen and saw Jinx and Hustle sitting at the counter, laughing and eating cookies. “You can’t repeat this, but the police have deciphered some of Clancy’s journals. I was one of his products.”

Cora’s hand flew over her mouth. “No!” She glanced into the kitchen, then leaned forward and placed her hand on Shaye’s leg. “I am so sorry. I don’t even have words. I knew something was bothering Corrine the last time we met—something more than the usual, but I never imagined.”

“For obvious reasons, we’re keeping that information to ourselves, and the police are trying to keep it confidential. I’m sure that sooner or later, it will get out, but I stand a better chance of finding out something before it becomes a media circus.”

“No one will be hearing anything from me. Except God, and he’s getting an earful tonight. I’ve prayed so much this past year he’s probably tired of hearing from me.”

“Well, whatever you’re doing seems to be working, and I’ll take all the help I can get.”

“Is that detective working with you? The one who helped find Jinx?”

Shaye nodded. “Officially when approved, unofficially when he can get away with it.”

“I figured as much.” Cora smiled. “I could tell by the way he looked at you at the hospital. My mama would have said he was sweet on you.”

“You think so?”

“Oh, honey, I’d bet on it. The question is what are you going to do about it?”

Shaye sighed. “That’s one more answer in a long list of those I don’t have.”

* * *

S
haye dropped
Hustle off at Saul’s hotel and gave him a wave before pulling away. It had been a really long day, but a good one. With Hustle’s help, she’d found the home she’d lived in and more things were coming back to her. Hopefully, it was only the beginning and her memory would progress forward so that she could pin down something that would help lead them to her captor.

That would help save the girl he had now.

She smiled as Hustle bounded into the front entrance of the hotel. He hadn’t stopped talking since they’d left Cora’s house. His visit with Jinx had been a really good thing. No matter how well Shaye and Jinx spoke about Jinx’s situation with her aunt and how great Cora was, Shaye knew Hustle had to see it firsthand before he let go of that last thread of worry that he carried around. After everything Jinx had been through, his worry was warranted, but Cora and Corrine had assured Shaye that Jinx was in counseling and talking openly about her abduction and escape. Even though she was only fifteen, Jinx had a practical mind and a mature perspective on everything. Corrine said Jinx reminded her of Shaye in that regard.

It was also clear to Shaye that Jinx had done a fair amount of worrying about Hustle. She’d been asking Hustle a lot of questions during their phone calls and asking Cora to check up on him and make sure everything was as he’d presented. Shaye suggested to Cora that she bring Jinx to visit Hustle at the hotel for their next get-together. That way, she too could see firsthand how her friend was living. It would be one less thing on the girl’s mind. Cora had been excited at the idea and said she’d call Saul and arrange for a visit.

Shaye turned her SUV back toward the French Quarter and glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was only 10:00 p.m. but she felt as if she’d been up for days. Her sleep had been as disrupted as her eating and exercise schedule, and she was paying for all of it. Everything was up in the air right now, but she needed to get things back to some sort of normalcy soon. She couldn’t afford for her strength to lapse or for her mental acuity to lessen in any way. Staying focused and physically strong was necessary for survival. After nine long years of practically nothing, now things were racing forward, sometimes at lightning speed.

She glanced in the rearview mirror and made a note of the shape and light intensity of the headlamps on the vehicle behind her. It had been going the same direction for the past four blocks, staying about a block behind. That wasn’t necessarily unusual. After all, a lot of people lived in and visited the French Quarter, but Shaye had learned long ago that too much caution was rarely a bad thing, especially in her line of work.

The most direct route to her house kept her straight for another two blocks and then turning right, but instead, she made a right turn at the next stop sign, then stomped on the gas and made a hard right turn into a parking garage, turning off her headlights as she went inside. She circled around the lower level, giving her a clear view of the street, but didn’t pull into a parking space. Instead, she stopped in the middle of a big empty area and pulled her binoculars out of her glove compartment.

A couple seconds later, the car she’d spotted passed the garage at a much slower speed than it had been traveling behind her. Training her binoculars on the car, she hoped to make out the driver and was momentarily surprised when she saw two figures in the front seat, rather than just one.

Maybe you aren’t being followed.

That would be the most logical explanation. If one person had been in the car, it would have fit better for following her theory. Two meant a bad guy and an accomplice, and stalkers usually worked alone. Still, something about it didn’t feel right and she knew better than to ignore those feelings.

What if it’s him?

It had crossed her mind as she and Hustle fled the house earlier that day. Only for a second, but it was still something she had to consider. With Clancy being headline news, her abductor might feel threatened and make a move. Maybe he’d been following her for a while. She didn’t think that was the case, but she couldn’t be certain. If it was her abductor, maintaining her safety and that of anyone around her had just gotten more complex.

Zeroing in on the back of the car, she tried to read the license plate, but only got a partial. Still, a partial and the make and model of the car—a black Mercedes S-Class—might be enough to get some information on the occupants. A starting point at least.

She watched as the car crept by and waited until it had been gone for at least a minute before inching forward to the exit. The street was clear as far as she could see so she pulled out and turned her lights back on, then made a left turn and took a circuitous route to her apartment, constantly checking her mirrors for any sign of the black sedan.

No other cars stayed in line with her for more than a couple blocks, so she circled around once and then parked in front of her apartment. She pulled out her nine-millimeter as she scanned the streets for any sign of movement, but not even a piece of paper stirred in the dead night air. She climbed out of her car and headed for her apartment, quickly unlocking the front door and stepping inside. It took only a couple seconds to disarm the alarm, then she bolted the door back down, reset the alarm, and pulled back the blinds on the front window to peer outside.

She sucked in a breath.

The car had just turned the corner and had pulled to the curb a block away from her apartment. At least, it looked like the car and the headlamps were the same, but without her binoculars, she couldn’t be sure, and she’d left them in her SUV. She waited several minutes for someone to get out, but no one ever emerged. She tapped her fingers on the windowsill. The service she used for tracking license plates was closed, so either she waited until tomorrow or she called in a favor. Reaching into her pocket, she grabbed her cell phone and called Jackson.