KILLING ME SOFTLY (27 page)

Bender straightens. "My daddy was a cop and his daddy before him. They taught me right from wrong, that if a man doesn't have his honor, he doesn't have anything. But the force is dirtier now, filled with people like your lover who use their badge to further their own agenda. But I won't be part of that. I can't live with myself knowing your brother used his last breath to name his killer, only to have me sit on the information because I don't know who I can trust and who I can't. But you were his sister and you have a voice. You can do with the information whatever you want. My hands are clean."

I watch Bender walk away, but can't move. Can barely think. He's lying. That's my first thought. He has to be. But then I tear open the envelope and pull out a stack of black-and-white crime-scene photographs, and deep inside, my heart starts to bleed.

Ten hours later I'm sitting dry-eyed at my kitchen table with a cup of untouched coffee in front of me when Cain puts the key I gave him into the back door and lets himself in. He's been gone all night. He never called.

"Cain," I say. "We need to talk."

He looks at me through eyes completely devoid of emotion. "Not now," he says. "It's been a long night and I need a shower."

There's a weariness to his voice, and it reaches inside and touches me, despite everything. "Then after," I say, but then I see the blood on his shirt and feel my own run cold. "What's that?"

"Cop bit it last night," he says.

No, I pray. No, no, no! "Anyone I know?"

He pulls a glass from the cabinet and goes to the sink, turns on the water. "Don't think so. He was a rookie. Good kid. Smart, dedicated—Bender. He was the one who found your brother."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

New Orleans, present day

"
B
arbados."
Just saying the word brought a smile to Val's heart. Images formed immediately, of sun-drenched beaches and dazzling bays, warm breezes and frothy pina coladas. "Can you believe it? Maybe as soon as next week."

"Sounds lovely," Tara Prejean said from her bed-and-breakfast across town. "If you're not careful you might find me stashed in your suitcase."

Putting away a stack of burgundy towels, Val winced, chastising herself for being so insensitive. For a moment, she'd been so high on the prospect of getting away with Gabe she'd forgotten what Tara had just been through. "You know you're always welcome."

Tara laughed. "Thanks, but I think this is a case where three would definitely be a crowd."

Val turned to leave the bathroom, saw the pill bottle lying on the counter. Phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear, she picked it up and took off the lid, counted the painkillers inside, and frowned. "Don't rule it out," she said with a breeziness she no longer felt.

Yesterday there had been nine. Now there were only four. "You know we love being with you."

"I know, thanks," Tara said. "I'm guessing this trip means things are … better?"

"Gabe's under a lot of pressure." Was getting his headaches more frequently, staying up late and waking up early, closing the door when he spoke on the phone. "But I think the end's in sight."

Tara hesitated. "Any word on … Alec?"

Val slipped the prescription bottle back into the medicine cabinet and left the bathroom. Tara always wanted to know—but Val never knew how much to say, and how much to keep to herself. "Nothing definitive."

Just last night she'd slipped from the bedroom and stood barefoot outside the closed door to Gabe's office, and listened. He'd been on the phone, and agitated. Something about a shipment, about Prejean needing to be stopped. "He doesn't like to talk about work when he comes home."

"Alec never did, either," Tara said, and despite her resolution to be tough, she sounded sad. "He'd come home late and leave early, promise me everything would be okay but lie about where he was going, plan a romantic evening but come home too tired to do anything but fall straight into bed."

"But you loved him anyway." Val glanced at the black teddy abandoned on the damask rug by the bed. It had taken a couple of hours, but eventually Gabe had come to bed, and they'd made love.

Tentatively, she put a hand to her stomach, and wondered. In thirteen days, she'd know.

"I did," Tara said. "That's what makes this so hard. The man I loved, the man I wanted to start a family with, is not a murderer. He cared about Savannah. There's no way he could have killed her."

Val sat down on the bed, saw no point in shattering Tara's illusion with what she'd overheard Gabe saying the night before. Everyone wore masks. Everyone kept secrets. It was impossible to fully know someone, no matter how many promises they made, how much you loved them. Sometimes, if you really wanted a future with someone, it was better to just not ask the questions. "I take it you haven't heard from him, either?"

"Not a word."

Fighting a wave of unease, Val pulled open the night-stand drawer and lifted the guidebook she'd picked up for Barbados. "How long has it—" she started, but then went very still.

"Val?"

She blinked, felt the room tilt. "Yeah, I'm here," she said.

But Gabe's .9 mm was not.

"Damn it, Cain, where the hell are you?" From his position on the second story of an old warehouse, Gabe glanced out the grimy window and scanned the deserted building across from him. He'd been trying to reach Cain since before sunrise. "The pieces are falling together, cuz. I think we've finally got our man."

Jabbing the call-end button, he narrowed his eyes and stared out at the dreary November day. For eighteen months he'd been looking for a way to lift the suspicion from his cousin's shoulders. Now the means had been practically gift wrapped and dropped into his lap. Back during the dark days when the grand jury had convened to determine Cain's fate, he'd never imagined it would be Alec Prejean who would ultimately take the fall.

Time dragged. He kept his gaze on the warehouse, looking for the slightest movement, kept his hand stabbed into the pocket of his trench coat, curled around the butt of his .9 mm.

When his phone vibrated sometime later, he checked the caller ID box and frowned when he saw Val's name.

She'd looked so peaceful when he'd left her that morning, lying on her side with her hair spilling against her face. For a long moment he'd stayed, watching her. Then he'd allowed himself a touch. He'd let his fingers drift against her cheek, and her lips had curved into a soft smile.

He hated keeping secrets from her, knew how much she valued honesty. So did he. Lies and deception were not commodities he enjoyed. But this was not something she would understand. Sometimes, the truth really was more dangerous than deception.

After thirty seconds, the phone went quiet, and guilt did a cruel last stand through his chest. Soon, he promised himself. Soon this mess would be over and it would be safe to leave town without fear of something blowing up in his absence.

Another vibration, and this time the caller ID box showed a different name. Evangeline. They'd hardly spoken since the awkward scene in his office, but that morning she'd suggested they do lunch. Scowling he checked his watch, realized more time had elapsed than he'd realized. But he did not answer the phone.

Movement then, only a few minutes later, the quick blur of a shadow against the side of the warehouse. Gabe lifted a pair of binoculars and scanned the area, zeroed in on a man dressed in all black easing along the shadows.

Recognition came swiftly. "Son of a bitch."

D'Ambrosia wasn't supposed to be here. After waiting for a rendezvous the evening before that had never come, the two men agreed the information they'd received had likely been a setup. They'd parted with sundown, had not mentioned one word about returning with sunrise.

Not liking the direction of his thoughts, Gabe turned from the window and moved through the shadowy warehouse. He drew his gun and stepped into the drizzle, edged along the side of the wet bricks. Adrenaline boiled through him, but he kept his movement deliberate, cautious. The element of surprise was critical. He would find D'Ambrosia, and stop him.

The sound of a car engine changed everything. He stopped and turned, crowded himself against the side of the building and saw the bloodred Porsche. The door opened, and Alec Prejean emerged. The sight brought an acrid taste to the back of his throat. Justice or not, he could find no glory in what was about to go down.

With a furtive glance around the deserted parking area, Alec shut the car door and headed for the warehouse.

Only then did Gabe see the semiautomatic in the other man's hand. He took off after him anyway.

Cain had told him about raids before, how everything goes still and quiet, reducing the world to a vacuum devoid of activity and sound. That one moment could stretch forever, and no matter how hard his heart pumped or how fast his legs moved, it was like moving through molasses. But they'd always been mere stories for Gabe. He was a lawyer, not a cop. His world was an office and a courtroom, not a dilapidated warehouse district where snipers could exist behind darkened windows.

But now he knew, and now he felt. And it was too late for turning back. The dread was intense, tightening through him like some horrific tonic that turned his muscles to rock. He pushed through the haze anyway, even when he saw the second car idling at the end of the driveway, even when he heard a voice he recognized shout for him to stop.

Alec reached the entrance and slid something into a slot, then pushed open the door.

"Get down!" was the only warning Gabe got. The warehouse blew out toward him, metal and glass and fire raining down like blistering shrapnel. The force of another body hit him from behind and he went down.

Then … nothing.

"That Travis, I know he came across a bit reckless, but me … he was my first crush. He lived across the street from me. Our mamas were friends. When we were little, they used to fancy we'd get married and give them beautiful grandbabies. For a while there, I thought so, too. He gave me my first kiss. It wasn't anything special, not at all like Ed—"

Lena Mae Lamont stopped and looked away, but not before pain flashed through her eyes. She stared toward the church's vestibule for a long heartbeat before lifting a hand to her face and resuming her story. "We were just kids then, but there's truth in childhood,
maisoui?
Honesty. We're born who we are. We don't become someone different from that little babe who draws its first breath and lets out its first squawk. Oh, we can mask it for a time, but the seeds, they're always there."

Renee drew her leather jacket tighter and wrapped her arms around her middle, resisted the urge to rock. Like venom, the chill oozed deeper with every beat of her heart, Numbness wouldn't come. She felt everything. Vividly. The acidic sting of each breath moving through her body. The pressure in her chest. The strangling grip of reality curling around her throat.

It had been four hours since Cain had walked away from her.

"Well put," she said with a forced smile. "Is this why you think you know something about why Travis was killed?"

The librarian frowned. "Back when we were kids we didn't have all these TV shows and video games like they have today. We had books, and our imaginations. Travis and I used to play out in the swamp. One day he found a billfold stashed in some Spanish moss. There was no ID, no way of tracing it back to its owner. I told Travis he should just toss it, but he became obsessed with trying to find out who the wallet belonged to and how it came to be lying empty by the knee of an old tree."

Renee rubbed a hand along her arm. Blind obsession was something she knew well. "Did he figure it out?"

"Never did," Lena Mae said with a quick glance toward the altar draped in white. "But the stories he came up with were amazing."

"I'll bet."

"And he never stopped. Time went on but there was always a new mystery. For a while it was that blasted stained-glass window. He was determined to find it, thought he could use its healing powers to save his mama from cancer."

The church started to spin. Renee fought the dizziness, but the stained glass and pews whirred and blurred and merged. She tried to focus, knew she had to let go of what could not be changed and concentrate on what could. But letting go had always been a weakness of hers. She just didn't know how.

"So when that reporter disappeared—"

Renee blinked. "Savannah?"

"The Trahan woman," Lena Mae clarified. "When she went missing, Travis jumped on the case like he was Sherlock Holmes."

That first night came back to Renee, the warning in the other man's eyes. She'd taken it as ramblings. Now she had to wonder. "Did he find anything?"

Again, Lena Mae's gaze darted around the vestibule. "People didn't pay him any attention, you know? They thought he was a drunk and a clown … but that was the way Travis wanted it. He pretty much used it as a smoke screen. If anyone had taken him seriously, he wouldn't have been able to learn the secrets he did. And as long as the real bad guy thought Travis believed Cain was guilty, then Travis never had to worry about anyone finding out what he was up to."

It was all Renee could do to keep herself from lunging across the confessional. "Did he find anything?"

Lena Mae frowned. "He swore me to secrecy, but I—I … I'm scared he might have been right."

Renee reached for the librarian's hands, found them clammy. "About what?"

Lena Mae looked down at her hands tightly clasped in her lap, then let out a slow breath and met Renee's eyes. "He was sure Cain didn't do it, said he loved her too much. He thought…" She hesitated, lowered her voice. "He said the only way Cain could have taken the fall like that was if someone close to him set everything up."

Renee's heart gave a cruel lurch, and her mind started to race. Cain was a cautious man. He didn't trust easily. "That's not possible."

"But it's the only explanation that makes sense," Lena Mae said, and her voice was sad. "The only way Cain could have looked as guilty as he did is if someone close to him framed him, someone who knew his secrets and his weaknesses, his comings and his goings. Someone who could manipulate the seemingly innocuous into something dark and sinister and condemning. Someone he and Savannah both trusted. Someone who could have tricked them both, who had access to his files and his calendar and even his car—"