Into the Devil's Underground (38 page)

Emilie didn’t move. The knife was a reminder of who was in control.

His hand shot out, the steel glinting in the dim light as he sliced the zip ties in one swift movement. “Is that better?”

She sucked in sharp breath and let the air recede from her lungs. Julian grinned, a hint of malice in his smirk. He enjoyed her fear.

Let him. As long as he was happy, she’d stay alive. She drew her legs into her chest and leaned forward with a groan. Her tailbone would never be the same.

“Much. Thank you, Julian.”

“Drink, please.” He handed her the bottle of water. “I don’t want you falling ill.”

*   *   *   *

“
A
UGUSTIN
B
OUGERE DIED
in 1840.” Ronson tossed her phone onto the table. It landed with a thud on top of the mountains of paperwork Nathan had been combing through.

“The field office didn’t find anything more current?” Nathan asked.

“Nothing.” She dropped into the nearest vacant chair. “Plenty of Augustins and Bougeres live in Louisiana, but only one Augustin Bougere in the last two hundred years. He lived in the Cane River Valley and established Bougere Plantation in 1795, according to the deed. Plantation remained in the family until the 1940s. The house was torn down in 1982 after being abandoned for years.”

“So Creepy stole Augustin’s identity,” Nathan said. “But why?”

“I’m betting it’s got something to do with his trigger,” Ronson said. “I’m waiting for the history of the plantation. Hopefully the field office will find a picture or two. Any luck in New Orleans?”

Nathan dropped his head into his hands. He needed some aspirin. “Most of them are family owned shops. No one lost an employee in 2004, and no one remembers an Augustin Bougere or anyone fitting his description.”

Emilie had disappeared sometime before dawn. She’d been missing around twelve hours. Creepy had kept his previous victim for weeks. He would be patient at first, treating Emilie with politeness and care in the hope of gaining her affection.

Emilie knew this. She could earn his trust.

*   *   *   *

“
I
’M SURPRISED BY
you.” He mimicked her posture, sitting cross-legged in front of her so their knees touched.

Had he expected her to cry and beg for her life? Scream and fight?

“Why?”

“You haven’t asked about your mother. I was the last one to see her alive. Don’t you want to know her final words?”

Another test. He wanted her to appreciate his gift.

“No need to ask. I’m sure they were about herself, like always.”

“Yes. How she was a patron of her community, her husband was an important lawyer who adored her. All ego-laced pleas. And lies.”

“She was good at that.”

“Do you believe what she said about your biological father?”

Emilie knew he wanted to hear information she’d only shared with those closest to her. He wanted to be a confidant.

“I have no idea.”

“I do.”

“Why?”

Julian leaned forward until his face was only inches from hers. Emilie resisted the instinct to recoil from the intimate gesture. “Because people are always honest when they’re about to die.”

She wanted to lunge at him. Her mother had been a terrible person, but Claire shouldn’t have been used as a pawn in his sick game. “What did she say?”

“She’d made a mistake by having a one-night stand with a man whose name she couldn’t remember.”

“What did she say about me?” Emilie couldn’t help but ask.

“That was quite interesting. I expected more of the vitriol she spewed in the alley, but she sobbed about how she wanted to love you. She just couldn’t. Every time she looked at you, she saw her mistake and hated herself for it. So you became her scapegoat.”

Her throat tightened. “She said that?”

“Yes. Claire even begged me to leave you alone. Then she pleaded for more time so she could apologize to you.”

Emilie swallowed around a lump in her throat. “She wanted to apologize?”

“I briefly considered it, but the logistics just weren’t possible. How could I have released her without being caught? She’d seen my face. I wanted her to see me.”

“Why?”

“So she would know her daughter’s avenger, of course. Thirty-four cuts for thirty-four years of misery. All for you.” He held her hand and laced his fingers through hers. His skin felt clammy, and Emilie tried not to shudder. “I only wanted to make you happy. To free you from her torment.”

Emilie didn’t realize she was crying until she tasted salty tears. Claire had wanted to apologize. Deep down, she’d hated herself, not her daughter. And now she was gone.

He smiled. He expected praise. Emilie wanted to rip his heart out.

The taste of vomit burned in her mouth. Her next words would be the most horrid she’d ever uttered. “You did make me happy. I’m free. Thank you.”

Julian’s expression changed. His haunted, docile look was replaced by sheer happiness.

“You’re welcome, my sweet Emilie.” He still clutched her hand. “So many great things lie before us. You’ll see.”

God forgive me.

*   *   *   *

N
ATHAN SAT IN
the station’s break room, an untouched bag of Doritos in front of him. New Orleans had almost a hundred stores listed under antiques. Fifty had been contacted, and none had any information. Two of the owners had heard of the Bougere family and confirmed the plantation had been divided into individual parcels and the house demolished in 1982. Like most of the South’s historic plantations, Bougere’s had a history of sorrow and death. Augustin’s first wife and child had died; slaves had been beaten to death. Nothing to help find Emilie.

The tunnel search came up empty. Officers were still in the drains, but Nathan had little hope they would find anything. Creepy was too smart. He’d found a new place to stash Emilie.

The apartment above Bougere’s Antiques served as an office and storage area. Techs were still processing evidence but hadn’t found anything that proved useful. Creepy could be out of the city and long gone by now. He’d reinvented himself once. He no doubt had a new identity for himself and Emilie already. If she managed to keep herself alive.

A large hand touched his shoulder.

Nathan stared up at his father. “Dad. What are you doing here?”

“Chris called and told me your friend was missing. Got me a visitor’s pass.”

Sean ambled to the other side of the table and sat down. “From the way you talked the other night, I’m thinking you two might be more than friends. How you holding up?”

“We’ve got nothing.”

“You’ll find her.”

“I’m not a detective, Dad. And Emilie and I are involved.” The words hurt to say. “I can’t do much but make phone calls and sit on my ass, waiting.”

“You’re a good cop,” his father said. “The puzzle pieces are all there. You’ll fit them together.”

“And what if I don’t? What if I fail her?” He couldn’t lose anyone else. Especially not her. Not when they’d just gotten a taste of what life together could be like.

“You can’t think about the what-ifs, son.” His father nudged Nathan’s arm, “That’s nothing but a waste of time. All you can do is keep digging. Sitting around feeling sorry for yourself ain’t gonna save her.”

Sean slid a bag across the faded table. “Lefty’s pork sandwich and fries.”

“Thanks.” Nathan’s stomach growled at the mention of food. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

The break room’s door burst open. Chris stumbled in. His shirt was half un-tucked, his short hair a mess. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and too much coffee.

“Julian Batier.”

“What?” Nathan asked.

Chris shoved a handful of fries into his mouth. “Creepy’s name is Julian Batier. He worked at M.S. Rau Antiques in New Orleans. Place is over a hundred years old and a French Quarter landmark. I looked it up online. We aren’t talking shit from Grandma’s attic. This place is ultra high-end. Most of their stuff costs more than I make in a month.”

“How do you know Creepy came from there?”

“For one, it fits his description and his attitude. Second, when I brought up the name Bougere, the manager said the mansion was long gone, but I should contact Julian Batier. He grew up in the Cane River Valley and is an expert on Bougere Plantation. Guess he suddenly left town in 2004 after fifteen years at M.S. Rau.”

“Jesus Christ.” Hope rose in Nathan’s chest.

“Hell, yes,” Chris said. “Ronson’s searching for Batier’s residence now, but she’s afraid he won’t be listed. No need to use his real name here with a fake identity.”

“He’ll be listed somewhere. He doesn’t live in the apartment above the store. He’s got a residence someplace. He’s too tied to his previous life to give up his real name.”

“Then we’ll find him.” Chris looked at Sean for the first time. “Where’s my sandwich?”

“You didn’t ask for one,” Sean said.

“I’m the one who called you.”

Nathan’s phone beeped with an incoming text. “Avery just found Josephine.”

42

E
MILIE HAD LOST
track of time. How many hours had she been stuck in the stale hole? She had to pee. She glared at the bucket and refused to lose her dignity in such a humiliating way.

“Julian?”

He opened his eyes. Reclining against the dirt walls, he’d been resting peacefully.

“Yes, Miss Emilie?”

She hated the way her name rolled off his tongue, how the thick Louisiana accent made it sound beautiful. She didn’t want to like anything about him.

“I’d really like to get out of this hole. You said you had something better planned for us. Can we please go there?”

“I’m not sure you’re ready yet.”

“Are we ever really ready for our lives to change?”

He moved away from the wall and brought his face near hers, once again invading her space. She didn’t flinch.

“A good point.”

“I’d just like to get to know you in a more comfortable place. I know you did the best you could,” she added. “Short notice and all. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know you’re not.”

She forced a smile. “I meant to say, I don’t want to. After all, you’ve gone to such trouble to bring me back into your life. You said it wasn’t about the antiques Mémé took. I’d like to understand what you meant.”

“I already told you.” His eyes drifted to the necklace she wore. He stared at the bell in reverence. His hand reached out to stroke the pendent.

Light reflected off a band of silver on his index finger. In the center lay an emerald with the fleur-de-lis etched into the stone. Panic and disgust shot down her spine. Had he sought the ring out after seeing her necklace in an effort to solidify their connection?

“Your ring is beautiful,” she said. “Is it a family heirloom?”

“No, this is part of a set I acquired from the Redeau’s, one of New Orleans’s historical families.” He touched the bell dangling from her neck. “I allowed your grandmother to wear this. She died before she gave it back.”

“Would you like it back?” The necklace felt dirty now.

His fingers trailed over her collarbone. Emilie kept her eyes locked on his, willing her body not to shrink away from his touch. “No, it’s yours now. As for what brought me back to you… everything,
chère
. I watched you in the gallery. Your appreciation of the art was so genuine, your expression so profound as you studied
Girl with a Straw Hat
. You looked as sad as you did the day your grandmother died.”

His hand moved to her bare upper arm. “I was fascinated by you, but it was your eyes that awakened me. So green, so serious. They remind me of someone I once knew.”

Her mind raced. Marie Adrieux, the woman he’d kidnapped and murdered in Louisiana? “Who?”

His serene expression faltered. “Someone I lost long ago whom I cared for very much.”

Emilie recognized the pained look in his eyes. She’d seen it before, in the bank.
Josephine.

“What happened to her?”

“She died.”

“How?”

Julian dropped his hand. He gazed at the earthen walls. His mouth sagged, his body slumped.

“An accident.”

Emilie rested her tied hands on his. “I’m sorry, Julian.”

“She didn’t deserve to die. She was so innocent, so young.”

“I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through.”

He gripped her fingers. “The moment replays in my mind every day, as vivid as when she first fell.”

“What was her name?”

Julian’s eyes closed. His mouth twisted into a grimace. “Josephine. It means ‘God will add.’ I’ve tried to tell myself that’s why he took her from me, but then I never really believed in Him. Josephine had the faith, not me.”

“Will you tell me about her?” She brought their laced fingers to rest on her legs and tried not to think about the gesture.

He didn’t respond. Instead he looked down at their interlocked hands. This was her moment. If he believed her, she had a small chance of getting out of the miserable hole. She refused to let her inner turmoil show.

“I’ll do more than that.” He brought her hands to his lips. “Let me show her to you.”

*   *   *   *

“
J
OSEPHINE—WHO IS SHE?”
Nathan entered the conference room with Chris close behind.

Avery looked up from his computer. “You mean who was she?”

“She’s dead?” Chris asked.

“Yep. She was twelve.”

“What happened?” Nathan’s fingers dug into the table.

“She fell from the balcony of an abandoned plantation—Bougere Plantation.” Ronson stood behind Avery, phone in hand. “Railing gave away, and she died instantly. Her friend witnessed the entire thing.”

“Julian Batier,” Nathan said.

Ronson nodded.

Chris sat down on the table. “How old was he?”

“Eleven,” Ronson answered. “She’s our trigger.”

Avery spun his MacBook around. On the screen was a faded Polaroid of a smiling little girl. Her skin was neither black nor white but a beautiful mixture. Her black hair framed her face like a halo. Even in the two-dimensional picture, Josephine’s wide, green eyes sparkled with life and mystery.