Relatively Risky (8 page)

Nell shrugged. “Maybe he'd started to stand. I was looking at the river when it happened, trying to get by without making eye contact.”

“He wouldn't have stuck it out to stand up.” If anything, it would have been closer to his body. “You sure you didn't trip on his foot?”

She tipped her head to one side. “Only if he has a wooden leg.”

Could St. Cyr have tripped her on purpose? But why? Nell wasn't a stripper or under twenty-five. Not remotely St. Cyr's type. But he'd smiled at her. Noticed her at least once before tripping her. He looked at the drawing again, and this time he caught it—the look that puzzled him. He'd known he was going to die. Alex had seen too many men on the brink of death not to recognize the look. So he could have tripped Nell to—what? Tell her she needed to use sunscreen?

“This is going to sound weird,” Nell said, shifting uneasily in her chair, “but I thought he did it on purpose. It's like he knew I didn't want to talk to him so he made me stop.”

Now that sounded like St. Cyr. He couldn't have hoped she'd help him. Still, it was odd. “He didn't…look worried or anything?”

She frowned. “You think he stopped me—but the only person around him was the bodyguard guy—” Her eyes widened. “You don't think—”

“I don't know what to think, Nell. I have some contacts I can call.” Most of them relatives. And someone needed to know Nell might be a material witness. At the very least she might help them fix the time of death. And at worst? He looked at the sketch of the bodyguard. He could be a steely-eyed killer and a bodyguard. For St. Cyr, that would be a requirement for the job. And if he was the one who'd tapped St. Cyr? Survival of the fittest. Was that what amused St. Cyr? He didn't seem the type to want to die, but he wouldn't mind going out causing lots of trouble to lots of people. Which brought him back to, why Nell? Had he tripped her because she wouldn't look at him? To make her? Was it that simple?

He didn't like that she'd become a witness. Again.

But it did give him an excuse to hang around while he figured out why he wanted to hang around. If he had wheels, they could still go get food. As if on cue his stomach complained.

She grinned. “I'll fix our stomachs something while you make your calls.”

W
here a murder investigation started
, and who ended up with it, depended on how high-profile it was likely to be. St. Cyr's getting tapped was almost as high as it could go. It wasn't just his wise guy status. His death was bound to cause some ripples in the criminal underclass. Maybe shift the power balance. St. Cyr would have an heir apparent who would have to prove he was tough enough to keep it together.

Feds would be interested and so would the Organized Crime Unit. He had a brother in either place, but in the end, he decided to follow the body and called his sister, Hannah. If she wasn't digging through St. Cyr's brain, she'd know who was—and where they'd be sending the pathology report. He needed to talk to whoever would get that report. She was—he flipped through the texts—the only one who hadn't texted him. Either she hadn't heard about the shooting or she was digging through someone's brain.

He went into an unoccupied room to make his call. Shut the door, just in case he had a lot of explaining to do. He half expected to get her voice mail and had his pitch ready. Took him a minute to realize he had the voice, not the mail.

“Alex?” This was delivered with a hint of impatience.

“Yeah. Sorry.” Funny how almost every conversation with his sisters started or ended with an apology. Ninety percent of the time he didn't know why. It was a bad habit. Sometimes it saved time, though he suspected his sisters had started to figure it out. When they did, it wouldn't be pretty. “Long day.”

“Really? I wouldn't know.”

“Sorry.” Really bad habit.

“I've got a corpse waiting.”

“Not St. Cyr?” Would the cutters fight over the body? Or try to pass the brain?

“Yeah. Lost the toss.”

“He's one of the three wise geezers.” It was historic. Not to mention a happy day. One down, two to go. Felt a twitch again at the thought of Nell having contact with two out of three. In one day, too. Had to be some kind of record.

“It's a bullet to the brain.” A pause. “You'd better not let Dad hear you call them geezers.”

“They're older than he is.” He did some math. Okay, a little older than Zach. Not that old age had made them less deadly. If anything it had made them worse. But they'd been around longer than Alex had been alive. He tried to think of a way to ask that wouldn't catch her interest. Figured out there probably wasn't one. “Who you sending the autopsy report to?”

He swore he heard her straighten to attention. Or maybe he just felt it coming across the ether.

“Why?”

“I might have some information relevant to the case.”

“You sound like a snitch.”

He did. “Need to know.”

She sighed. “The Feds and OCU are still duking it out. Last text from Ben, he'd offered to arm wrestle Frank for it.”

“Frank won't go for that.” He'd lose. This brother didn't like to wrinkle his clothes.

“He is less susceptible to the taunting dare than most of you.”

Alex let this possible side swipe pass since “most” might exclude him. Frank was a cerebral s.o.b. Good fit for the feds. “So for now, it's Ben's case.” Frank probably had someone working on a court order. That was at least one Baker too many on the case. Bad enough when a case was twice “Baked,” but a triple? None of them would want big brother sticking a toe in. Wouldn't believe he didn't want to be all up in their business. Had plenty of his own, not to mention keeping off his Lieutenant's bad side long enough to get a good night's sleep. Complaints from other divisions or the feds would not help him achieve this goal. He looked at his watch, tired hitting him like a bat now that he thought about sleeping. “Look, Hannah—”

“How come everyone is texting me about you? Why do they want to know if I heard from you?”

He tapped the phone. “Sorry, what was that? Losing signal or battery or something. Bye.”

“Alex—”

He disconnected and dialed Ben before Hannah could call him back. Since Ben was one of the sibs that had texted him, Alex wasn't surprised when his brother answered. Or his WTF greeting.

“I'm fine. And Laura knew that when she sent out the all points.”

“You shouldn't have cut that hunk out of her hair, bro.”

“She was eight and she needs to learn to forgive.”

“Yeah, that'll happen.”

Alex could hope. “You still on the St. Cyr case?”

“Your district doesn't have enough bodies? You gotta come looking for one of mine?”

“I don't want your body.” He rubbed his face. “I have a witness, someone who saw the old fart and his bodyguard, maybe not long before he got capped, but if you're not interested...”

He heard Ben's chair give a loud squeak. “The bodyguard got capped, too. Found him stuffed in the trunk of the geezer's limo.”

Alex felt a mild stirring of interest and stomped on it. Not his problem. “My witness has a sketch of them both. She's one of those French Quarter artists.”

“She?”

Alex ignored that. Gave him the address and rang off. Then he studied the messages that had piled up while he was on the phone. Yeah, he'd made the evening news. The last was from Zach. He'd have ignored it, but he needed that ride home. He tapped his dad's name on the tiny screen. One ring and his dad was on the line, going for zero to chewing his butt in two seconds.

“How come you can't go a whole day without getting shot at?” He didn't wait for an answer. “I got everyone and their dog calling me, and what do I have to tell them? My son has not bothered to call and tell his old man he's still breathing. I realize you're all grown up, too big for your britches is more like…”

Alex waited it out. His laconic dad didn't get wound up often and he only got this pissed when he was worried.

“And why the hell is Curly Gastonieau burning up my line trying to reach you?”

Alex straightened. It was a good question. He wished he had an answer. Gastonieau was his dad's old partner. Not only that, he'd been retired longer, so he had less reason than most to be burning up phone lines. Alex lowered the phone and did a quick scan of his missed calls. There was one number that showed up a lot. No ID since Gastonieau wasn't in his contacts. No reason for him to be there. Those calls hadn't started until after the news, though.

“Maybe he's worried, too,” Alex offered without conviction. “If he calls again, tell him I'll get back to him when I can.”

“Look, bubba—”

“Dad. I gotta a few more things related to the shooting to deal with and I'm done.” Boy was he done. He rubbed his face again. “I'm gonna need a lift. Might be able to catch one with Ben—” He stopped but not in time. At least he hadn't mentioned Frank. He might be meeting him before the night was over if he got his court order tonight.

“You're meeting Ben.”

Could almost feel the old man's brain spinning with questions. He knew what Ben did, knew what Alex did. Knew when their twains should meet and when they shouldn't.

“Nothing to do with the shooting. Something else. But if he's busy—I'm not far from the house. I'm on St. Charles. If you're not busy.” With Leslie is what he didn't want to say, so he didn't.

“What's the address?”

Alex gave it up again. Almost he asked his dad about the three wise geezers, but caught himself in time. It would just stoke Zach's curiosity, keep them on the phone longer. Not that he knew what to ask. It was a pity they didn't all shuffle off together. Two wise geezers didn't have the same ring. Afoniki might be too mean to die. Word on the street was Calvino had been trying to clean up his image. Been in the paper a lot surrounded by kids. If Alex had any kids—which he wouldn't—he sure wouldn't want them around that creepy old geezer.

Made him want to snort to hear the press call St. Cyr a “businessman.” Guess it was libel to call him anything else, since he hadn't done time since juvvie. None of his people had ever flipped on him or managed to get the drop on him. Until now. He could almost feel the unease in the air from the sudden power vacuum. He tried to remember if he knew who was St. Cyr's next in line, but his brain slowed to a tired crawl. He needed food and sleep.

He sniffed. Food. Had just enough strength to follow his nose…

“
D
oes he have a brother
?” Sarah murmured, when Alex stepped out to take another call. She'd come home about halfway through the cavalcade of leftovers Nell had dug out of the fridge. Her brows had risen, but she'd tucked in without doing more than murmur a greeting.

“He's got six,” Nell told her, “and six sisters.”

Not much surprised Sarah, but that did. “You're kidding.”

Nell gave a shrug. She'd had several hours to get used to the idea, well, as used to it as one could. She went back and forth between wanting, and not wanting to meet the dad. It felt historic and awkward. Already she pictured him as a zucchini, which made her blush before she met him. So yeah, be better if they didn't meet.

“Wow.”

Their gazes met and they both grinned.

“Seven brothers. They can't all be single.”

Nell didn't know the relationship status of his brothers. She didn't know Alex's status, though he seemed single. He hadn't mentioned a wife when she asked for the kiss. Hadn't kissed her either. Which brought her back to uncertain. She looked up and caught Sarah on her smart phone. “What are you doing?”

“Looking them up on Facebook.”

“Oh.” Of course she was.

“Says he's divorced. Doesn't seem to post here himself. Just his sisters taunting him.”

“So why don't you make a move on him?” She hoped the question sounded casual. This wasn't the first time she'd had to watch a guy she found interesting go for Sarah. It was the first time it mattered. She'd get over it. Sarah was more family than friend.

Sarah looked up. “I gave him my come hither look when he came looking for you. He didn't.”

Nell found this a little too heartening, so she rose and started clearing debris. Usually Sarah didn't have to get to the hither part of her come hither look. She opened the dishwasher and started loading plates. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, sweetie.”

“Then he must be involved with someone.” Or he swung the other direction. Which meant she'd imagined everything and totally embarrassed herself…

“Usually don't like
spoilers, sweetie
, but in this case…” Sarah drew the moment out. It was what she did. “It's you he's interested in.”

Nell spun around, found Sarah looking at her with amused affection. “Because of the shooting, not—” She stopped. “It's been a strange day. I'll be glad when it's over.” She almost meant it. Ninety percent meant it. Ten percent kept hoping—well, that ten percent needed a reality check. Dang, she was tired. She checked the time. Not as late as it felt. The aches and the scrapes launched a cacophony of complaints about that, too. “Do we have any ibuprofen?”

Sarah indicated a location and Nell crossed to it.

“They're all varying degrees of not married,” Sarah murmured, her attention directed down at her phone.

She heard the sound of footsteps in the hall. Nell turned, the bottle in hand, as a strange guy peered in.

“I knocked. The door wasn't locked…”

Nell studied him. Not completely strange. “You're one of the brothers.”

He was a variation on a theme. He had almost the same build as Alex, though he was younger, a bit leaner. Coloring trended fairer, though he wasn't blonde. He grinned. He had the charm down pat. Was it from the dad? Was that how he'd convinced some woman to pop out thirteen kids?

“I'm Ben.” His gaze assessed her, a bit cop, a bit brotherly curiosity, and a little bit of something she didn't recognize. “You the she who might have seen something?”

Nell nodded, though not with certainty. What had Alex told his brother about her?

“You going in or coming out?” Alex appeared behind Ben, giving him a brotherly nudge into the room.

Ben turned and gave him a once over. “No visible holes.”

“They're all in my truck.”

“Any idea who you pissed off?”

It wasn't that much comfort that Alex's brother thought the bullets had been meant for Alex, too. Not that she wanted them to be for her. Didn't want anyone gunning for either of them. She blinked. How was it she'd wandered into a mystery? She wasn't Miss Marple. She was too young and not nearly nosy enough.

Sarah put her phone down, rising from her place at the end of the long table, her come and her hither both fully deployed. It hit an unprepared Ben, who hithered her direction with admirable dispatch.

“Ben Baker. And you are—”

“The roommate of the she who might have seen something.” He blinked. She took pity on him. “Sarah Burland. This is my kitchen.”

Ben didn't look at the kitchen. He did take the hand she'd extended. “Very nice.”

Sarah flicked Nell a brief, satisfied grin, before turning back to Ben. Alex gave his brother an irritated look. Nell used the distraction to knock back the pills, then returned to table clearing.

When Ben gave the debris a longing look, Sarah shelved the come hither for the practical. “Would you like something to eat?”

“I had a bagel at eleven.” He added a pathetic look.

“Grab a chair.”

While she made her food magic—and it was magic—Alex showed Ben the sketch of Nell's far too interesting day. Ben's brows arched and he studied Nell with professional interest. “Afoniki and St. Cyr?”

Sarah spun around, but Nell shook her head, with a “later” look. Sarah wouldn't be happy to find out her client was some mobster guy. Though it did explain Dimitri's bad boy vibes. And possibly his odd behavior. She considered it and decided, no, it didn't.

Ben studied the page for what felt like a long time, then glanced at Nell.

“You're good.”

“Thank you.” Nell felt her cheeks warm.

“I told you she was,” Alex said.

He had? Nell's cheeks warmed some more.

Ben shrugged. “But that's not the bodyguard.”

“He's not his usual one,” Nell objected.

“You didn't mention he wasn't the same guy—” Alex interrupted.

“I didn't think about it until now.” At the look on his face she added, “How would I know the turnover rate for bodyguards?”

“Could be the shooter,” Ben interrupted. He tapped the face. “This sure isn't the guy we found in the trunk.” He frowned. “I wonder if he sucked at his job or—”

“—he was the one who capped him,” Alex finished.

It was a good thing she was already sitting, cuz her knees went soft. Nell looked at Sarah. Had she been yanked to her feet by a killer? It was bad, very bad to see killers, before or after they did their killing. Sarah looked worried now, too.

“Do you think Nell is a witness…” Sarah stopped, as if she couldn't finish.

“But he didn't act like a killer.” He'd been annoyed, no doubt about that, but he hadn't looked—wouldn't he have done something? Maybe tried to find out who she was? Not hurried her along so he could get to his killing. “He acted like a real bodyguard.”

Both men gave her a look.

“Well, he looked and acted like I'd think a real bodyguard would act. And he didn't act like I'd foiled his evil plans.” Which she hadn't foiled if he had been the killer. “I couldn't have been the only person to see them there.” Though she might be the only one to draw them together.

“It's a fair point,” Ben admitted.

Nell felt compelled to point out, even though she shouldn't have had to. “He's probably on someone's YouTube channel by now.”

“Look at the drawing again,” Alex told his brother.

Nell, Sarah, and his brother bent over the drawing. Nell looked at Sarah who shrugged. To Nell it just looked like her drawing. Ben met Alex's gaze, a frown between well-marked brows. In that instant, they looked very alike. Nell itched to grab the sketchbook and draw them.

Ben leaned back in his chair, his gaze stabbing her way, then at Sarah. “Let's start with Afoniki, if you wouldn't mind?”

Sarah's expression cooled. “Dimitri is a client, or rather his uncle is. Dimitri is the go-between.”

“Aleski Afoniki is—”

“—giving a dinner party. We cater dinner parties.” Her gaze had narrowed considerably.

“He's also a mobster, a wise guy, Sar,” Nell broke in.

Her brows shot up. Then lowered as her expression shifted to thoughtful. “That would explain it.”

“Explain what?” Ben asked.

“His bad boy thing.” Sarah frowned. “Didn't know he was that bad, though.”

It was weird that Nell hadn't liked him, but she also hadn't gotten the same level of creepy from him as she had from St. Cyr and his henchman. Right off they'd made her think
Sopranos
and she'd never seen the show. While Dimitri just made her want to send him to the principal.

“Do you think there's any risk for Nell?” Alex asked.

She looked from one to the other with an anxiety she couldn't hide.

Ben considered the question, half shrugged. “I'm going to take a picture of this,” he pulled out his cell and focused in on the face of the so-called bodyguard, “and shoot it off to Frank. Save him the trip here and he'll owe me.” He grinned. Nell heard the whoosh of it leaving, then he put his phone back in his pocket. “I got a heads up from a contact at the courthouse that he got his court order. His sup and my lieutenant are still arguing it out, but I'm too tired to care. Been a long day.” He rubbed his face, letting a bit of tired show through. “What's this about you almost getting your truck jacked in the a.m.? And something about a girl—”

He stopped as a flush rose in Nell's cheeks. He looked from her to Alex, his brows doing a fast hike toward his hairline.

“I forgot I wasn't playing
Mario Kart
and tried to ram the boy,” Nell admitted.

“What—” It was obvious there were still dots to connect, but his phone shrilled. He looked at the screen. “Frank. Excuse me.” He rose and left the room.

Nell and Sarah looked to Alex.

“Brother. FBI.”

“Oh. It's a jurisdiction thing.” Another thing one learned reading mysteries. She studied Alex a bit thoughtfully. That must get interesting with a sibling. Or two. Or more?

“We're all in it, one way or another,” Alex said, as if he read her thoughts. “Even the girls.”

“Intense.”

“Oh yeah.” Now his phone buzzed, but it seemed to be a text. He scowled. “My dad. He's gonna get something to eat, then come get me.”

Nell exchanged a look with Sarah, saw “awkward” echoed in her gaze. Hopefully, if she did meet him, she'd be too tired to blush.

B
en had
an odd look on his face when he came back into the kitchen. He stowed his phone and sat down.

“What?” Alex asked, wary, not to mention wasted, after a day of shock piled on weird, then covered with crap.

“They'll have to run ballistics, of course, but they think the douche bag in the sketch is the shooter. Had the same weapon on him.”

Alex blinked. Did it not make sense because he was tired, or was it just that it didn't make sense? “They caught him already?”

“Someone did.” Ben paused. “He's dead.”

That was good news, well, three bodies wasn't good news for the people who had to process them, but three, dead bad guys was better for the rest of the world. And it wrapped the case up in a neat package. He rubbed his face. He should be happy. He was too tired to be happy. “So Nell's sketch—”

“—connects the dots.” The odd look didn't fade. “And she might be the last person to see them both alive.”

“Except for whoever killed the killer,” Sarah pointed out, a hint of steel in her tone.

“Of course.” Ben offered the agreement a bit too fast.

Did he think Nell could have anything to do with those two? Alex studied his brother. Yeah, he wondered. Alex supposed he'd have wondered too if—he hadn't known her a full day, he reminded himself. But—no way. She could have kept quiet about it all. She had no reason to tell him she'd seen St. Cyr. Almost no chance someone could have connected her to either of them.

“You didn't see anyone else around St. Cyr?” Ben asked.

Nell's brows arched. “It was the Moon Walk,” Nell pointed out. “In the French Quarter.”

“Lurking,” he amended, looking as embarrassed as he should for asking such a dumb ass question, “or showing special interest in them?”

He wanted to tell Ben to look at Nell, really look at her, but at the same time he didn't want Ben to really look at her. What if he noticed that there was, well, something about her. Ben had turned the charm on Sarah, which suited Alex just fine. Not that he was—okay, he might be interested. He was also too tired and too sore to sort it out. Until he did, would rather not have to fight his way through his brothers to get her attention. And if they thought he was, they'd delight in clouding the issue. No honor among the brothers. And the sisters would bet on the outcome—all of them against him. He was oldest and he'd changed their diapers.