Bayou Jeopardy. Rita Herron
hard to rebuild the city. Her father had been his right-hand man, and she had joined the efforts.
She checked her lipstick in the mirror then descended the steps. Her father was waiting with his driver. He ushered her into the limo, and they headed toward the Quarter.
But loneliness settled into her as they drove down Saint Charles Avenue, and she fingered the emerald stone at her neck. It was smaller than the expensive jewelry her father had given her, but Mack had bought it for her the night after they’d first made love, and she hadn’t been able to let go of it.
Even after NOPD officer Charles Gibbons had shown her proof that Mack was a dirty cop and that he had been cheating on her.
MACK PULLED HIS JACKET up to keep the rain from soaking his neck as he went to meet Remy.
A limo rolled by, spewing rain all over him, and he cursed. Damn rich people thought they owned the world. Maybe that had been Barnaby’s problem. He’d wanted to be one of them.
Mack never had. Never would.
Even if he had wanted it, he wouldn’t have fit. Lily’s father had pointed that out repeatedly.
He ducked beneath an awning. The rain had finally stopped, but water stood in the alleys, dripping from the storefronts. A half-dozen patrons strolled in and out of the bars, and tourists rushed by. A man and woman holding hands caught his eye as they stopped to window-shop at the jewelry store where he’d bought Lily an emerald, and his gut tightened.
But the sight of Remy Comeaux with his Saints hat on jerked Mack back to his mission. Remy visually searched the area. Maybe he was worried about repercussions from Barnaby’s arrest.
If Barnaby had cronies working for him, they might seek revenge against Remy.
Mack walked toward him, his gaze tracking the area in case he was walking into a trap.
Once a cop, always a cop.
“Long time.” Remy gestured toward the fence behind them. “Last time I saw you we were leaving that jail.”
Mack chuckled. “Yeah, I heard your papers got lost.”
“Yours probably did, too,” Remy said.
“That doesn’t mean that my name is clear.”
Remy nodded. “Barnaby’s in jail. That’s a start. But he’s just a small part of this game.”
“Go on.”
“Like Ray said eight years ago, the corruption runs about as deep and wide as Lake Pontchartrain.”
Mack shoved his hands in his pockets. “Any evidence?”
“Suspicions ranging from police corruption to financial plans for the city’s rebuilding efforts to politics.”
“You’re talking about the mayor?” Mack asked.
“Yeah, maybe even higher.”
Remy removed a file from inside his jacket and handed it to him. “Look over that and see what you think.”
Mack opened the file. Charles Gibbons’s name was scrawled there, although Remy had made a note that Gibbons had led Remy to a drug dealer connected to Barnaby, so Gibbons was an ally.
Mayor Barrow was on the list. So was Melvin Landry.
His mind raced.
Landry had money and was buddies with Barrow. If there was corruption with the rebuilding funds, Barrow and Landry might be involved.
Suspicions rose. Landry had disliked him, hadn’t wanted him to marry his precious daughter, Lily.
Had Landry framed him to get him away from his daughter?
“What do you think?” Remy asked. “Are you in?”
Mack’s gaze met Remy’s. “You want me to work with you? I thought—”
“That I believed the charges against you?” Remy’s low chuckle rumbled. “Did you believe them about me?”
Mack shook his head. “Not for a damn minute.”
A smile creased his friend’s face. “Me, neither.”
Emotions Mack hadn’t felt in a long time hit him. “Oh, yeah, I’m in. If Lily’s father set me up, I’ll nail him.”
Remy pushed another piece of paper into his hand. “Landry’s at a dinner with the mayor now at this restaurant.”
He and Remy agreed to keep in touch, and Mack walked toward the restaurant, a pricey two-story establishment. The rain began to drizzle again, the sky dark with more clouds.
All he could think about was the fact that he might finally find out who’d ruined his reputation and sent him to jail on trumped-up charges.
He stopped across the street from the place, the sounds of Bourbon Street echoing with partiers.
He people watched for a while, listening to the rhythmic blues and zydeco music, then finally the dinner party spilled onto the veranda overlooking the city.
Mayor Barrow. His wife, Genita. Three other men he didn’t recognize.
Then Melvin Landry strode outside, a glass of champagne in his hand, a woman on his arm.
Mack squinted through the rain to see who was with him, but shadows hid the woman’s face. Still, she had blond hair piled on top of her head, blond hair that reminded him so much of Lily that his throat closed.
She said something to Landry, walked to the edge of the veranda and looked out over the Quarter, a sliver of streetlight catching her face.
Mack staggered backward.
Dear God. It was Lily.
Chapter Two
Shock and disbelief slammed into Mack. He couldn’t believe Lily was alive.
His hand trembled as he wiped sweat from his brow. Why had her father told him she was dead?
Bile rose to his throat.
First Landry had him thrown in jail on false charges, then he must have been furious when Mack survived the flooding prison.
And when he’d come looking for Lily—hell. He’d probably figured telling him Lily was dead would be the end of him.
And it nearly had been. He’d sulked away to grieve just as Landry had predicted.
God. What about the baby? Had he survived?
Did he have a son?
He balled his hands into fists. Did Lily know he’d made it out of that jail?
Was she aware her father might be stealing money from the funds they’d raised to help the city?
Too agitated to stand still, he began to pace. Rainwater squished between his shoes, the sounds of Bourbon Street fading as his anger took root.
Dammit. He wanted to nail Landry.
But first, he’d watch Lily. If she’d known he was alive, why hadn’t she tried to find him?
LILY SENSED SOMEONE watching her from the veranda and scanned the street below. A figure moved to the right and ducked into a bar, and she chided herself for being paranoid.
Ever since she’d moved back to New Orleans, she’d seen Mack in the shadows, Mack in the streets, Mack waiting on her at their favorite coffee shop with a latte.
But Mack was gone.
The jail where he was had flooded. Some of the prisoners had escaped, and although Mack’s body hadn’t been recovered, the fact that he hadn’t come looking for her made her certain he’d died in the floods.
She turned to her father. “I’m tired, Dad. I’m going to take a cab