“I don’t think that’ll be possible.” I placed my lifted foot back on the rug and leaned forward. “Don’t tell me that this isn’t my business, Richard. I think we both know it is.” I stood. “I think we’re done.”
“This will go much smoother with me and an NOPD detective than it will when the feds come calling. If we have Mrs. Ramses’s statement on the record, she might be able to avoid speaking to them at all.”
“She has the right to representation.”
“She isn’t being charged with a crime. She’s a witness.”
“I’ll talk to her. The decision is hers.”
Michelson smiled. “Of course it is.” His gaze went toward the double doors. “Perhaps I could ask her myself.” His gray eyes met mine. “Is she currently home?”
I offered the prosecutor my hand. “Thank you for the visit, Richard. I’ll be in touch.”
Emma
The SUV emerged from the tunnel into the evening traffic. Above us, colors filled the sky as the setting sun sent its last rays of the daylight up toward the low-lying clouds, turning the normally cobalt blue to a spectrum of crimsons. My stomach twisted as knots formed on knots, a gaggle of nerves.
I’d imagined that it would be freeing to leave the mansion. Ever since Rett’s promise last night of a tour, thoughts of New Orleans swirled throughout my mind. I’d truly only seen a very small bit of the city the day I arrived with Ross. As we were driven north on St. Charles Avenue, I couldn’t ward off the uncertainty.
After so long within the protective walls, I had the sensation of a butterfly emerging from the safety of the cocoon. My wings wanted to stretch, yet I was unsure.
What if they wouldn’t carry me?
What if I fell?
Rett reached across the seat and gently covered my hand. “You’re shaking.”
I quickly shook my head. And then for a moment, thoughts of the city streets beyond the vehicle’s windows disappeared as I stared into the dark orbs I’d come to know. “I’m...sorry.”
“I believe we’ve had multiple discussions on apologies.”
“This isn’t life or death. I wish I wasn’t apprehensive. This isn’t me, Rett. I came down to New Orleans to have a business meeting with someone I didn’t know. Now, leaving the house with someone I do has me uneasy.”
“No, Emma. After what happened to you, I should have insisted we get out sooner. I’m guilty of wanting to keep you safe.”
Tucking my lip behind my teeth, I looked through the windows. “What about now? Is this safe?”
Rett lifted his chin. “We have Leon and Ian here with us and at least ten others stationed around the city and the restaurant.”
My legs trembled as the high heels of my shoes burrowed into the carpet. Looking down at my lap, I saw the black skirt of the dress I’d chosen as well as the small clutch with a few important items for a date, such as lipstick and the like.
I turned to Rett. “I’m being silly. I know I’m safe with you and Ian,” I nodded toward the driver. He was the same man who told us about Judge McBride. “...and Leon.” I turned my hand over so our palms were touching. Rett’s fingers encased mine. “I’m anxious, but I’m also excited. When does my tour begin?”
“Now...”
I listened to Rett as the SUV slowed in traffic and he pointed out landmarks. Our home was in the Garden District, the Eleventh Ward. Leon drove us into the business district. The Central Business District wasn’t what I thought of when I thought of New Orleans. It was filled with high-rise buildings, boutique hotels, bars overflowing with people, and office space.
In the French Quarter, he took us down to the Mississippi riverfront. The walkway was bustling with people, and artwork, and on the water, large riverboats with paddle wheels were all lit up.
For a moment, I was concerned that we were going to get out of the SUV and walk. And then when we didn’t, I wrestled with disappointment. I’d never been an anxious person, and whatever had happened to me, I didn’t like it.
Rett kept my hand in his.
“My father,” Rett said as we again drove, “was an advocate of history. New Orleans is filled with history, factual as well as fabled. He believed it was important to understand where the city came from and the people who built it, in order to understand where it is today.”
“That makes sense.”
“You asked about the safety of our underground garage. All New Orleans residents keep flooding in the back of our minds. My grandfather had only recently passed away when Katrina hit in 2005.” He shook his head. “The greatest tragedy wasn’t the hurricane, a category three when it hit landfall. Though the winds and storm surge did produce damage, the real devastation occurred with the aftereffects. Levees that had been constructed a long time ago and left to deteriorate failed.”