Lara

Fear is a fist in my chest.

Closing my eyes, I sing the jazz standard while Roland accompanies me on the piano, and the vibrations of the song, the melody in my heart, my lungs, my mind, take me away from this place.

They always do.

Opening my eyes, I go straight into one of Roland’s songs. His eyes are fixed on the keys as he plays, and he listens, following my lead, his head tilted to the side.

I suppose this is his dream as well. When we were in the old theater, he talked about writing songs for me to sing. He convinced Gavin to let him compose an entirely new show with me as the lead…

Only it never happened.

Until now.

That old place burned to the ground and those players are all gone, but his songs remain. We’re here in front of a live audience, and they’re enraptured. I’m his mouthpiece, and the lyrics are beautiful, the bridge, the refrain, the verses leading into the chorus.

For so long, I only thought about my lost dream, the chance that never appeared. Or the chance that appeared only to be so quickly taken away. Now I look at him and wonder what dreams he left behind along the way.

You’re in my arms and it feels so right.

But it’s simply an illusion.

We harmonize on the an as always, holding it out for a bit longer, a dotted quarter note. He brings the night to a close with the final measures, a sweeping denouement of harmonious chords.

The audience cheers, our tip jar overflows, and it’s after two. Fear slams into me again, and I’m ready to go, to get to the house. Mark said he would be there…

Evie and Armand took Jillian home a while ago. Mark left for his errand in Algiers before that. It’s taken all my strength to focus on the songs and trust him. He knows what he’s doing. He’s been a police detective for so long, I’m sure he has encountered danger before, confronted criminals. I’ve seen him beat the shit out of guys—Eddie, for starters, this afternoon.

He’s strong and he’s trained and he’s ready.

Still…

Sitting on the piano bench with my back to Roland as he makes his final notes on the score and collects our money, I think about the broken pulley and Eddie confessing he did it all for Vanessa.

“Vanessa,” I say to myself, and Roland glances over his shoulder.

“Wanted to take your place,” he says as if completing my thought. “Can you imagine her speaking the words? Not even singing them?” He does a little shiver then seems to notice my worried expression. “What’s wrong? Why do you bring her up?”

“I was thinking about her getting Eddie to break that pulley. I could have died.” It was so long ago, but I remember that terror. “Mark saved my life, but I honestly thought that belt had cut me in half.”

“It’s a wonder you didn’t have internal injuries.”

“I didn’t have any friends in that place.” Gazing around the near-empty bar, I think about this type of work and how competitive it can be.

“You had me, Evie, Molly… Rosa went back and forth in her loyalties.” He tilts his head side to side. “Bea wasn’t so bad, and Tanya could be a friend when she wasn’t wasted.”

“And Mark,” I say softly.

My chest aches with longing.

His lips press into a grin. “That, my dear, was your very own special gift. Finding him in a place like that… There’s no accounting for it.”

“I got lucky.”

“You’ve been lucky more than once.” He stands, sliding the papers together and zipping them into the leather portfolio where he stores them. “You have a pure heart, and you’re generous. It earns you good karma.”

Wrinkling my nose, I stand and follow him out of the bar. “I don’t think I believe in that.”

“Whether you believe it or not, it’s the truth.”

The cool night is not as damp, and the clouds have drifted away. The moon is a fingernail, and I slip my hand into the crook of Roland’s arm as we walk to his house.

“As long as it holds out just a little bit longer,” I say, wishing on those stars blinking to life high above the city. Let him be home…

“You don’t need luck anymore.”

“Don’t we always need luck?”

“Not this time. This time justice will balance out the darkness and the crimes those men did here. You’re not acting on your own. You’re simply the tool bringing order back into the universe.

Our heels click on the pavement, and I fight the urge to run ahead. I think about the night he saved me from my crime. So much has changed, but so much feels the same.

Finally, we’re at his house, and he holds the short black gate for me. I dash through it, crossing the tiny lawn quickly.

“Slow down before you trip,” he chuckles.

Pausing at the front porch, I place my hand on my chest, calming my breathing. “Sorry, I feel like old ghosts are chasing me tonight.”

Our eyes meet in the darkness, and his teeth glow as his smiles. “We’ve beaten those ghosts before.”

“It seems like they have a way of coming back. Like being trapped in a horror movie.”

He shakes his head. “You need to pack.”

I run up the steps. Mark said he would be here when I got home.

Reaching for the doorknob, my breath stills…

* * *

Mark

The waning moon casts long shadows around the house on Alix Street. A white picket fence lines the yard, and a short crepe myrtle tree stretches in front of one window. It looks too normal, too nice for the thug I’m trying to find.

I park Roland’s car around the corner, partially hidden near a small grocery store and step out into the damp night air. It’s almost eleven, so the store is closed. The smell of the river hangs in the air, tangy mud and fish mixed with exhaust from the barges.

Slipping the key in my pocket, I walk the half-block to the house. The exterior is cypress painted a deep orange color. The trim is dark green, and it looks trendy, designer. It’s unexpected a crooked cop like Landry would have an artistic sensibility. You just never know with these guys.

Large round crates hold small, white flowers on each side of the steps leading to the porch. I take the short flight of concrete stairs and stop at the front door.

On the drive here, I decided to change my approach from full-on attack to something more contrite. If I want answers, if I ever want to get that thumb drive or get close enough to destroy it, I have to play it cool, act casual.

This is going to be hard.

Two short knocks, and I hear his gravelly bark on the other side. “Who’s there?”

Adrenaline spikes in my veins, but I rein it in. “Reese Landry? It’s Mark Fitzhugh.” A shadow passes over the window, and I step back so the streetlight can hit my face. “Remember me?”

More rustling, and the slow crank of a deadbolt sounds before the door opens a crack. “Mark Fitzhugh?” He’s standing in the dark opening. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Control.

Calm.

“Looking for work, actually. I thought I might get on with you again.”

It’s so quiet, I can hear the hiss of traffic crossing the river behind me.

“How did you find me?”

I’m still in the light, allowing him to see my face and empty hands. I glance down at my boots and do my best to appear non-threatening.

“It’s the damndest thing.” I try to laugh. “I ran into that piano player, Roland Degrassi? Dennou?”

“Desjardin.”

“Shit, that’s it. I suck at names.”

The crack in the door narrows, and his voice drops an octave. “What about him?”

Fuck. “He said you might be living in the same place as before… And here you are.”

“You didn’t know where I lived.”

“Clearly I did.” I grin, opening my arms. “I’m full of surprises.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

A moment passes, and I keep my eyes averted, doing my best to hide the impatience simmering just below the surface, my primal desire to grab him by the throat and force him to talk, confess his crimes, and give me what I want.

“You’re smart.” I nod. “But since I’m here, can we talk? I’m looking for work and with the theater burned—”

“The Hudsons are gone.”

“I’m willing to work for you.” A truck passes slowly on the narrow road behind me, and I glance to my right.

I don’t know anything about this neighborhood. It could be a harmless resident returning home from a trip to the store or a night out… Or it could be one of Landry’s associates making sure he doesn’t need help.

Suddenly I feel very alone and exposed.

Returning my attention, I’m encouraged his door is still open a crack. “Would you mind if I step inside? I’d rather talk in private.”

“I don’t do business with people who aren’t referred to me.”

My teeth press together, but I hold on. “Seriously?” I force out a chuckle. “We worked together for months.”

“Yeah, and you’re supposed to be dead. How do I know you’re not on some revenge mission?”

He’s not stupid, which makes this even more dangerous.

Leveling my gaze, I infuse my voice with confidence as I lie through my teeth. “Because I’m not.”

Several seconds pass. The screech of cicadas slices through the air around me. Frogs cry from the nearby delta. My breath stills while I wait to see what’s about to happen.

The door opens slowly, and he doesn’t attempt to conceal the .45 clutched in his fist. “I’ll give you five minutes to say something I want to hear. Then you’re out. Try anything, and…” He tilts the gun, making sure I see it.

I see it.

All of my police training tells me this is a bad idea. I’m alone, and I’m not wearing Kevlar. No one knows I’m here—well, one person knows I’m here, and I promised her I’d be back in three hours…

My boots thud on the wooden porch as I step through the doorway into a nicely furnished living area. A brown, distressed leather couch is in the center of the room, and a leather chair with large brass studs and tweed-covered cushions is beside a round table holding a blue and white Asian-style lamp. It casts a soft yellow glow, and pictures in frames are arranged at its base.

“Nice place,” I say, stepping to the center of a Persian rug. “Should I sit?”

“Don’t get comfortable.”

A scotch sits on the end table near a chair. Landry is wearing jeans and a short-sleeved button-up shirt. He looks like he’s been out playing cards or possibly on a job?

“So I was in the Quarter hanging out at one of the bars, and I thought about all the shit we used to do. We made good money.”

“I’ve retired from strippers.”

“Still, there’s other business in the city. Maybe you know someone who needs a guy?”

“I don’t recommend people I haven’t vetted.”

Landry hasn’t changed. His dark hair is slicked away from his pockmarked face. He’s still short and stocky with suspicious black eyes, and he picks up the scotch with short, meaty fingers.

Losing the veneer of cool, I lower my brow. Sometimes these guys only respond to their own kind, and I’m ready to step into that role.

“How do I get vetted?” Glancing around his house, I start suggesting. “When Gavin was here, I oversaw cargo deliveries to container ships. I know my way around the docks.”

He goes to the small table and tops off his drink. “What have you been doing for the past six years? When you were supposed to be dead.”

When you thought you’d killed me is more like it.

“Alaska, Canada. It’s good country up there, wild and remote. Perfect for entrepreneurs.”

Black eyes lock onto mine. “I heard you’re a cop.”

Now the way he’s acting makes sense.

This asshole knows everything.

Still, I’m not losing after coming this far. Sustaining my act, I shift my approach in an attempt to make us allies, to put myself on his level.

It turns my stomach.

“You know as well as I do, being a cop is an asset around here.” Pointing to his glass, I nod. “Mind if I have one of those?”

“Help yourself.” He steps to the side and smiles. It feels more threatening than his glower.

Taking the crystal stopper out of the decanter, I pour two fingers of what I thought was scotch. The scent tells me it’s bourbon.

“Cheers.” I clink my glass against his and take a sip. My lips curl, and I hiss at the burn all the way down.

“You were pretty young when you left here,” he says. “You’re still young.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“You tell me.” He takes a sip from his glass. “Young people get wild ideas, think they’re invincible. Do you think you’re invincible, Mark Fitzhugh?”

“I remember being told once heroes don’t last long around here.”

“Did you internalize that message?”

Stepping over to the table, I pick up one of the picture frames. A black and white photograph of a skinny woman with a 1940s hairstyle wearing a cotton dress.

“My first job I cleaned up one of the rooms below the theater.” I return the picture to the table. “I’ve always wondered if it was a man or a woman…”

“You wonder too much. You remind me of Rick.”

My breath disappears. It’s like I’ve been sucker punched, and I’m glad my back is turned so he can’t see the expression on my face.

“You knew my uncle?” Lifting the tumbler, I take another sip. I need another sip.

“Rick was curious. Started asking questions.” He walks around to the side so he can see my face. “Only Rick wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t come at me when he had something to lose.”

I don’t know if my expression is under control. Anger burns just below my skin. “What does that mean?”

His glittering smile turns sinister. “Rick fell in love with Tanya’s mother. She blamed Gavin for her daughter being a junky when we all knew her daughter learned that shit at her mother’s knee. Still, that crazy bitch had something to lose.”

“So it was a woman.”

“Now here you are, coming at me. You have a kid, too…”

My stomach tightens. Is this bastard threatening Jillian? The anger simmering under my skin blazes into an inferno in my chest, fueled by the bourbon I’ve drunk.

The thumb drive is forgotten.

Tricking this guy into trusting me is forgotten.

Everything fades in the face of protecting my baby girl.

With precise, even movements, I unbutton my coat. “Sounds like I’m wasting your time. Let me give you my card in case you change your mind…”

His eyes land on the holster at my chest and several things happen at once.

The clink of crystal glances off the end table before crashing to the floor.

Boots thump on hardwoods.

His pistol flies up, and I feint to the left just as the staccato pop! of gunfire echoes in the room.

Pain blasts through my temple, and I’m thrown back as warm liquid gushes down my face

“Fuck!” I shout, whipping up my pistol and pulling the trigger before he can shoot again.

Another sharp pop! echoes in the room, and Landry flies back, hitting the opposite wall with a slam. My head is spinning. My ears ring, and I’m disoriented. This is bad—I can’t tell where I’m going, but I can’t stay here.

Wiping the blood from my eyes, I stagger to the door. I’ve got to get out. If Landry’s not dead, if he’s simply wounded, he could be up and on me fast.

Pulling the door open, I stumble onto the front porch and down the steps, gripping the rail. My boots crunch on gravel, and I weave through the darkness, across the short asphalt road to the corner. Roland’s car is ahead, hidden around the corner from the store.

“Jesus,” I gasp, using the force of will to keep my heavy feet moving. I have to make it to that car before I pass out.

Reaching in my pocket, I grab the key and jerk it out.

One more step, and my knees hit the grass.

It’s damp and muddy, cold water seeping through the material to my skin.

Holding out my hand, I catch the fender, pushing away so I don’t hit it as I go down.

“Lara,” I whisper.

I won’t be home when she gets there.