NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA

Jade shot a hand out to the dashboard as her new coworker banged a right so hard she swore the van’s tires lifted off the pavement.

“Hey!” Tanya exclaimed, swatting at Jade’s hand. “What did I say about touching anything in here?”

“That I should count myself as lucky that you’re bringing me along on my first day on the job?” Jade made a point of propping her elbow on the center console. “Oh, and that you can get me fired at any time.”

Jade had known Tanya Smith for all of an hour, but already she’d discovered that an hour was too much. The woman was a menace to society—she spoke loudly, she strutted through the office like she owned the place, and, if this fiasco was anything to go by, Tanya also believed she had the ability to get Jade canned.

Didn’t help that Tanya had the personality of a kicked puppy crossed with a tenacious Rottweiler. The woman must have done a lot of practicing in the mirror to achieve those help-me looks because, from what Jade could tell, they definitely weren’t natural.

Those beseeching glances had vacated the premises the moment Jade had crawled into the city-issued van and shifted the seat back to make room for her long legs.

“Don’t touch anything,” Tanya had sneered with such distaste that Jade’s hand had actually fallen away from the lever.

Not only was she facing almost certain death this morning, but she was also eating her knees for breakfast (Flavor: 80% polyester, 20% unknown).

“That’s right,” Tanya said now as she swerved to the side of the road and threw the vehicle into park. “All I’ve got to do is tell Mike that you aren’t cut out for the job and you’re gone.”

“I hope it won’t come to that,” was all Jade said.

Mike Davis was the main guy at large in their department. He’d seemed nice when Jade had met him this morning, but Tanya made it no secret that she had the guy in her back pocket.

Then again, everyone had seemed nice when Jade had introduced herself this morning, including the Wicked Witch of the West behind the wheel. If someone were to tell Jade that she was on one of those Punked! TV shows, where celebrities popped out from unsuspecting places to announce you as the winner . . . Well, she wouldn’t be upset about it.

Jade could use the money. She could also use a new coworker.

She reached for the door handle and paused. “Am I allowed to help myself out or are you going to do the honors for me?”

Tanya sent her a withering glance. “No one likes a smartass, Harper.”

“No one likes una puta, either,” Jade muttered beneath her breath, as she gathered her work-issued duffel bag and climbed out of the van.

She didn’t know her way around the city well enough to pinpoint their location. A small park sat to the right with a Spanish-Revival church seated on the corner of the lot. Owners walked the green with their leashed pups, and Jade smiled at the sight. To the left . . .

Jade inhaled deeply. The buildings seated one after another were beautiful. All were two-stories tall with wrought-iron columns holding up matching intricate balconies. The stucco of each townhouse was painted a different color. Turquoises and yellows, pinks and muted reds—it looked like something out of a travel guidebook.

Lucia Harper had often shown her daughters photos of Havana, Cuba, and the houses on this street were perfect matches. Jade would have to come back and grab a picture another time. A little taste of home, even though Lucia’s home was actually situated in the middle of the Caribbean Sea and not in the swamp of southeastern Louisiana.

“Harper, Mike does not like those who dawdle,” said the Wicked Witch of the West.

Jade had a sneaking suspicion that the bear-like Mike Davis had never uttered the word ‘dawdle’ in his life. Swallowing her annoyance, she followed Tanya to the address they’d been given, and noted the two police officers who stood talking to a visibly upset male civilian.

“I came home last night and the front door was busted!” The man’s hands flailed as he motioned to the door. “I went inside and it’s all gone.”

“What’s all gone?” asked one of the cops, his gaze flicking to Tanya and Jade before giving them a short, welcoming nod. “Electronics? Money?”

Silently Jade returned the nod, then assessed the scene around them. After completing a bachelor’s degree in archaeology—and realizing that her job prospects were pretty much nonexistent after two years of waitressing and sending out hundreds of applications to cultural heritage management companies—she’d returned to school. This time around, she’d chosen a field with a little more promise for employment.

Not that she planned to spend the rest of her life working as a crime lab technician. No, she had visions of herself working as an analyst, or, better yet, in forensics directly one day.

But for right now it would do, and so she cast her gaze along the entryway, noting the unbroken dead bolt on the front door, the tipped-over potted plant. There wasn’t a trace of dirt on the cement, leading Jade to believe that the burglar had known exactly what he’d find if he checked there.

The house key.

Classic.

“Sir,” the other cop started, “if it wasn’t your electronics and it wasn’t your money that was taken, what was? Clothes? Food? We can’t write this report for a break-in without information. Let us help you, all right?”

Looking disgruntled, the owner stared down at his bare feet. “I shouldn’t have called y’all.”

“You should have reported the incident last night when you realized what had happened,” intoned the first cop with a side glance at his partner.

There was a small pause where the chirping of birds filled the air like an unofficial ticking clock. Jade waited. Typically, she and Tanya would have already been upstairs, checking for fingerprints and taking photos of the mussed room. Only, the owner stood with his back to the door, effectively blocking them from entering.

“If I tell you what was stolen,” the owner said slowly, “will you keep it off the record?”

Simultaneously both cops pointed to the body cameras attached to their shirts, and the owner blew out a forceful sigh. “All right, fine.” His bleary gaze latched onto the body camera, shoulders slumping. “They took my blow-up doll.”

Pure.

Silence.

Neither cop so much as twitched, which couldn’t be said for Tanya or even Jade. Tanya’s liner-rimmed eyes widened and she rocked back on her heels, and Jade . . . she ducked her head to hide her laughter.

“Anything else?” the second cop asked in a perfectly monotone voice.

“They also stole my collection of 80s lesbian porn.”

“Your . . . collection?”

The owner snapped, his brows furrowing and his hands flapping about angrily. “Yes, my collection, Officer. VHS tapes. They are collectibles, worth lots of money. So are my old Playboy magazines—also stolen.”

Jade couldn’t help herself. She had to know. “How far back do your magazines go?”

“1953 with Marilyn Monroe. Very first edition.” The owner returned his gaze to the officers. “A gift from my dad after he divorced my mom and moved to Albuquerque. Never saw him again. The magazines were up in my attic.”

The first officer coughed into his fist. “I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Hugh, it seems like whomever burglarized your house knew exactly what they were looking for. While we talk a little more, why don’t we let crime lab head upstairs? See if they can find anything about your stolen . . . collections.”

Mr. Hugh gave Jade a distrustful glance, but a once-over of Tanya’s “charms” had him stepping to the side and waving his arm for them to enter the property. “Be my guest, darling.” He bloomed a vibrant red when Tanya sent him an assuring smile. Jade imagined praying mantises did the same just before they launched at their prey. “Thank you so much for coming to help me in my time of need,” he added.

Ugh, gag.

Tanya pressed a comforting hand to Mr. Hugh’s shoulder. “I’ll do my best, sir. Now, why don’t you talk to the good officers?”

The minute their feet hit the staircase, Tanya’s “charms” evaporated like condensation. “You get the attic,” she snapped as they neared the second floor entrance.

Jade jerked her head to the side to avoid being hit in the face by her coworker’s duffel bag. “I thought you said I was only allowed to watch you work your magic today?”

“So I did,” murmured Tanya as she entered Mr. Hugh’s second floor apartment. The ceilings were a good deal taller than those at Jade’s apartment and the layout more studio-like. The living room opened to the kitchen, and an unmade bed was tucked into one corner.

She had to wonder if the blow-up doll had kept a permanent place in Mr. Hugh’s bed until last night.

Windows nearly as tall as the ceilings themselves provided ample natural light and complimented the exposed brick walls. At first glance, nothing appeared out of the ordinary, save for the fact that a pull-down ladder to the attic had been lowered and that the cabinet full of DVD’s was missing three rows.

Mr. Hugh was right. Three rows of 80s lesbian porn was a collection.

Tanya lowered her duffel to the ground and unzipped the top. “I’d suggest getting started up there if I were you.”

Jade wanted to do nothing less. But it was her father’s advice that had her climbing the ladder’s rungs. Well, her father’s advice, as well as the fact that she was finally living her dream. Might as well enjoy it.

Twenty minutes later she found herself up in the stifling attic, sweating from pores she hadn’t known existed, as she looked down at what could only be classified as a “calling card.”

With her latex gloves snapped on, she smoothed out a part of the blow-up doll’s plastic flesh and shined her flashlight down on the words scrawled in pink Sharpie.

I’m better than the doll, it read.

Because that wasn’t creepy as all hell.

Her fingers traced the words, then flipped over the material. On the back, in precise block letters, the note continued: I took ur videos 2 ~ ur wife, Portia.

Well, then.

One point for Portia; zero points for Mr. Hugh.

Jade swallowed a laugh as she slipped the note into a plastic baggie. She’d have to check the rest of the attic space for any leftover evidence, but from the way things were looking, Portia was the thief. A woman scorned and all that—or not. Maybe Mr. Hugh just preferred the inanimate to the physically living.

Who was Jade to judge?

Even so, she couldn’t help but do a happy jig as she shimmied down the ladder. For a first day on the job, she couldn’t have hoped for more. Sure, it was just one creepy love letter—but it was one more creepy love letter than she’d had this morning. And it was also one more creepy love letter than Tanya Smith had.

Jade wasn’t the petty sort, but when she held up the baggie between her thumb and forefinger ten minutes later, there was nothing but pure satisfaction coursing through her at Tanya’s dropped jaw.

She could make it in New Orleans. She was making it in New Orleans.

Tanya Smith wasn’t getting rid of her yet.