Authors: Liz Talley
At least someone did.
Nate pushed his chair back, tossing his phone messages to the side. Abram had called once. Darby not at all. The other calls dealt with a few active cases and many cold cases—something he’d had no time for. Guilt flooded him. Radrica Moore waited.
Along with Emile Brossette, Timmy Hargon, Sheridan Kinney. So many waiting for him to figure out what had happened to them.
But he had no time for the dead.
The living demanded his present.
He grabbed his gun. “I’m heading out to Beau Soleil.”
“Later,” Wynn said, not looking from his screen. Nate saw him searching for info on Sean Shaffer. Maybe Wynn would have luck. “I’ll catch up with you. Oh, and Abram called—said you weren’t answering your phone. He wanted to know if his sister was still coming this weekend.”
Nate slammed his hand on the desk. “Damn it.”
Wynn turned with a shit-eating grin. “No, I didn’t tell Kelli. She’d be planning a damn party. But you should have told me.
Trust, and all that.”
Nate shook his head. “Abram talks too much. It’s going to get him in trouble one day.”
“You really found her? No kidding?”
Nate nodded. “Yeah, but it’s complicated. We’re trying to get our feet under us. She’s coming to see Picou this weekend, during the feast. We’re going to hope everyone thinks she’s a distant relation or something.”
His friend nodded. “I’ll be your smoke screen. I’m your guy, you know?”
“I know.”
Nate turned and walked out of the station, feeling as if the chill of the giant snowball had permeated his defenses—picking up speed, erratically changing course but destined to crash into him.
He shivered despite the heat.
* * *
Of course, it wasn’t her gun. Hers was tagged and sitting in an evidence locker, with no prints other than Shaffer’s and a serial number belonging to Anna Mendes. Nate had suggested it had been stolen, which was true, if not mildly fabricated. Only a matter of time before everyone found out Anna Mendes was a former FBI agent and current employee of Sterling Investigations and Security.
Her undercover status was in jeopardy.
The Sig-Sauer P226 she now carried was one of Nate’s. Twice as expensive as a Glock and heavier in her holster, the gun was fairly accurate with a quick trigger. He’d loaned it to her earlier, right before he went in to talk to Picou about Sally Cheramie’s visit.
She hadn’t seen him since.
It felt good to have a partner again.
“Annie, let’s play soccer some more.”
“Let’s not, bud,” she said. The late afternoon shadows fell across the lawn, but it was still Louisiana hot. She wondered when it cooled down in this neck of the woods. Sure would make wearing a blazer easier. “It’s too hot and I’m ready for supper.”
Spencer frowned. “I don’t want supper. I wanna play soccer.”
Tawny and Carter would be shooting well into the night for the next four days, then the movie would wrap. In one way, it worked out well Spencer’s parents were abnormally busy. Annie now wanted to be with Spencer at all times. Unfortunately, Spencer wanted to do things outside involving her running, kicking and tweaking the ankle she’d already banged up.
“I’ll fix you mac and cheese,” she said, using his favorite temptation.
Spencer kicked the ball at her. “No!”
Annie placed her hands on her hips. She’d had enough. She didn’t know anything about raising children, she’d admit to as much, but she knew how a decent human should behave—and Spencer needed to learn he wasn’t the center of the universe. She picked up the ball and walked toward the shady porch.
“Hey, give me the ball.”
She didn’t stop, didn’t speak.
“Annie!” Spencer screeched. She heard him stomp his feet. She stomped hers, too. Up the porch steps. She sank in a rocking chair, placed the ball on her lap and watched as Spencer threw himself down on the grass and pitched a royal fit. It was quite the spectacle. Finally, after several minutes, he looked up at her, his cheeks wildly flushed, his hair plastered to his head.
Not failing to do her job, she watched the perimeter like a hawk while the little boy rose to his knees. Finally, he stood and started walking toward the porch.
She waited.
He clomped up the steps, wiping his nose against his short-sleeved shirt, before stopping in front of her. “Please?”
She shook her head. “No.”
His lower lip trembled and she felt something tug at her insides. She almost rose, but didn’t. “Why not?”
“Because you’re not acting nice. You’re acting like a spoiled brat, and no one likes a spoiled brat.”
“I’m not a brat,” he sniffled, tears filling his eyes. She’d never seen a kid cry so easily. His damp eyes narrowed. “What’s a brat?”
“Someone who insists on getting his way all the time, every day, and when he doesn’t, he throws himself down on the ground, kicking and screaming until everyone is miserable. No one wants to play with a brat.”
The boy cocked his head like an inquisitive puppy. “But I thought you liked soccer?”
She nodded. “I do, but I’m hot, tired and my ankle hurts. I don’t want to play. I want you to consider how others may feel and alter your behavior to show you care about them.”
“Oh,” he said, walking toward the other rocker and sitting down. “I didn’t know you had a hurt ankle.”
“Because you don’t listen. I told you this morning.”
At that Spencer frowned. Such a little man already. Didn’t want to hear he was in the wrong. Probably would never stop for directions either. “I listen. I just didn’t hear you.”
“Oh, well, that explains it.”
They sat for a moment. Annie felt the gun against her side, the back of her tank stuck to her like new skin, and mosquitos buzzed in her ears, but she didn’t move.
“I’m sorry,” he said, propping his elbows on his dirty knees and looking plaintively at her.
She nodded. “I accept you apology. Saying you’re sorry is very non-brat-like.”
“I don’t want to be one of those guys. When I go to kindergarten, I want kids to play with me and stuff.”
“If you learn to listen to others and use their ideas sometimes, you shouldn’t have a problem.” She stood and held out a hand.
“Ready for mac and cheese?”
He took her hand and turned, wrapping his arms around her thighs. “You are a good nanny, Annie. I’m glad Mom fired Sophie. She never played with me at all and she called me a brat all the time. I didn’t know what that was.”
Annie didn’t know whether it was all the crap that had been going on, or the thought she’d done something right for a change, but emotion welled in her throat. She stroked Spencer’s sweat-soaked head. “I’m glad I’m your nanny, too.”
And for once she meant it.
Spencer dropped his arms and tilted his face to her. “I want extra cheese on my mac and cheese.”
She crossed her arms and lifted an eyebrow.
“Um, please.”
She smiled. “Okay.”
They turned to go inside and found Nate watching them. His expression was warm, and something about his catching her having a good moment with Spencer rather than her normal incompetency pleased her. “Hey, Mom made spaghetti with Italian gravy for dinner.”
Annie looked at Spencer. “Spaghetti and meat sauce.”
He thrust both fists into the air. “Score!”
Spencer disappeared like free beer samples at a bar.
“Guess he was hungry,” Nate commented, moving onto the porch and closing the door behind him. “I don’t know why you think you’re not good with kids. I overheard the conversation. Pretty good if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask.” She didn’t want his praise. Or maybe she did and that’s what made her feel so confused. Everything felt tense, as if she walked a minefield, expecting to be blown to smithereens. “Sorry. I’m tense.”
“Preaching to the choir,” he said, sinking into the chair she’d occupied minutes before. “Picou has been dragging out all the family recipes since I told her about Sally coming for a visit. She’s determined to make copies of her great-grandmother’s praline recipe along with Uncle Reuben’s shrimp creole. She made Aunt Cecile’s Italian gravy and meatballs in celebration. Why would food matter?”
Annie leaned against the door frame. “Soothes her and she needs something to keep her hands busy. Food is comfort. My mother did the same thing. Made chocolate chip cookies every time she was upset or nervous.”
He smiled. “I don’t know much about your family.”
She shrugged. “I don’t talk much about them. My mother passed away and everything fell apart.”
He didn’t respond, maybe because he knew about things falling apart, about holes unable to be filled. But all that had changed when he walked into that school nearly a week ago. He would no longer carry the burden of an empty place. Sally would fill that one when she finally realized she had a family who’d loved her once…one that would love her again. And Nate would carry guilt no longer.
She cleared her throat. “So, you hear from the lab?”
“Got a hit on the prints early this morning.”
She stiffened. “You didn’t tell me earlier.”
“I am now. We’ve got uniforms canvassing the neighborhood surrounding the church. More hitting hotels surrounding I-49.”
She felt aggravation creep up her spine. “You should have briefed me this morning. Instead I spent the day drawing stick figures and playing Candy Land. We’re partners.”
“In a way,” he said, flicking leaves off the porch with the toe of his loafer. “You couldn’t do anything. Your job is to stay with Spencer. It’s the only thing that gives me comfort. I looked at your record. You were a good officer in the Air Force and a good agent. I know he’s safe with you.”
“You should have told me. My firm has files and this guy might be in them. You didn’t even give me a name to check.” She couldn’t believe he was cutting her out of the investigation. What the hell? They’d worked together the whole day before, and her instincts to give chase to the suspect gave them the lead. So now he was taking over and giving her the babysitting job?
He shook his head. “I didn’t see anything on a meth head named Sean Shaffer from Georgia. Besides I already sent the info to Ace this morning.”
“You what?”
“Saved you the trouble of sending it to him. It was no problem. I’ve been intending to speak with him anyway. He said he’d run the dude through his—”
“We were working together,” she said, unable to stop the flood of anger. He went over her head to her boss? How would that look to Ace? Like she was an incompetent fool who couldn’t do her job well enough. Another woman who had to depend on a man to do it for her.
“You’re angry?”
She glared at him. “No, why would I be? You reported information on my case to my boss. I’m sure he feels confident I’m handling things down here. Bet I get a gold star by my name for having my job done for me by the capable Nate Dufrene.”
“I thought I was doing you a solid. This isn’t about ego. It’s about Spencer and solving the case.”
“You think this is about my ego?”
He arched a brow.
“No, dumbass, this is about my job. I’m in the middle of a probationary period and I need to look like I can handle this without some other guy doing it for me. I make my own reports.”
He stood. “You’re acting irrationally.”
“Irrationally? You’re overstepping your bounds. I never told you it was okay to talk to my boss. This is my case.” She jabbed her pointer finger into her chest. “Step off.”
“This is my case. I wasn’t stepping on your toes. Just doing my job. Expediency is critical at this stage and I took time to come here and give you an update. Because you feel sidelined doesn’t give you the right to snap my head off.”
Annie bared her teeth. “I knew there was a reason I didn’t like you. You’re an asshole.”
Anger shone in his eyes. They were no longer warm and chocolaty. “Nice. I’m covering your ass and you’re acting like Spencer. Do I need to give you a lesson on being a brat?”
“I know you didn’t just say that,” Annie said. Rage ate at her and she wanted to hit him—partly because he was right. She felt sidelined and useless. Relegated to bodyguard status, no more important than Brick. But the other part of her was furious he’d failed to see what this case meant to her. It was her trial period, her key to a future with a firm of good standing, a ticket to getting her life back on track.
“Look, there’s no need to get your panties in a wad over this, Annie. I’m sorry I didn’t let you report to Ace. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
She didn’t want to talk to him anymore. Calling Ace and repairing the damage Nate had done was more important. This was her fault. Again. She’d let her emotions get in the way, and like a misty-eyed romantic, had forgotten she had one reason to be in Louisiana—and that was her job. She pulled the gun he’d loaned her earlier from the shoulder holster beneath her jacket, holding the stock out to him. He took it and looked up, confused. “I don’t need this anymore. I can do my job without you.”
Turning on her heel, she pushed through the screen door, refusing to acknowledge knot in the pit of her stomach, trying to forget she’d put her faith in a man who obviously didn’t get who she was. Didn’t matter his action had been unintentional. It was a wake-up slap to the face.
And she had a case to solve.
On her own.
Only then could she go back to California and start her life again.
Nate didn’t follow her, and she didn’t blame him. Maybe she had overreacted, but what he’d done had been worse. He’d taken what he knew and ran with it, leaving her behind kicking a damned soccer ball.
Whatever she and Nate had between them was over before it started. No need to discuss anything after they closed the case. If she didn’t focus on her job and moving ahead, she’d get left behind. She’d already sacrificed her career once. She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
So why did it feel like a piece of her had died?