“Get the car, Leon. We’re going to Baton Rouge. That’s where Emma is. I feel it.”
He stood and stretched his neck. “I’ll go, boss. But something don’t feel right to me.”
“I can’t sit here.”
Images of Emma tied to the chair in the warehouse in the Eighth Ward came back as my fingers balled to fists. I looked at my watch. It was nearing four in the morning. “We’re going.”
Within minutes, we were out of the office, down in the underground garage, and driving on the streets of New Orleans. This was the time of day that the city rested.
New Orleans never truly slept, but this was later than the bars and patrons and earlier than the early risers. I watched with fascination as the two parts of New Orleans conducted their daily meeting.
As Leon drove us out of the city limits, my cell phone rang. My jaw clenched as I read the name:Richard Michelson.
I’d been avoiding his calls as well as others from the NOPD. Now, before daybreak with over an hour’s drive to our destination, I finally hit the green icon. “Richard. I would assume you know my aversion to phone discussions.”
“This is my private number, Everett. Fuck, answer a damn call.”
A fucking drum line was keeping time in my temples. I closed my eyes. “Later, come by the house.”
“I can come by now.”
“It’s the middle of the night. I’m asleep,” I lied.
“You sound awake to me. And if you really care about the woman you married, I’d put money on the fact you haven’t slept a wink.”
“The woman I married,” I replied, “would be safe in our bed if she didn’t go to answer your fucking questions. I heard from Sophie Lynch. You didn’t stay on topic.”
“What did she tell you?”
My nostrils flared as I exhaled. “Eleven o’clock in my front office.”
“Everett, I saw the footage like everyone else. The city needs someone to come forward and make a statement. I’ve talked to Mr. Clark, but he said you were busy. The people of New Orleans are following this, but there hasn’t even been a missing person report filed yet.”
“We’re working on this. If you don’t think I am...” I took a breath, lowering my voice. Fuck, my nerves were stretched.
Of course the warehouse where she’d been held before had been searched. I had people checking out every shipping container at the docks as well as those at the train yard. As strange as it sounded, I was finding a bit of comfort in Miss Guidry’s repeated statements of optimism. The woman was bat-shit crazy, but currently, I needed to hear her brand of crazy.
“Everett,” Richard said, “the son of Isaiah Boudreau was making a splash at the high-end bars last night. Your people in NOPD were watching. He’s getting out of hand. There are some officers here who want to bring him in and end the shit he’s stirring up.”
“Are you asking my permission?”
“No, I’m warning you. As loud and boisterous as Boudreau is, William Ingalls is your biggest threat.”
I shook my head. “He has no claim to this city.”
“You’re right. He’s working behind Boudreau’s back, and I’ve seen this ploy before in other cities. Chicago went through something similar a few years back. They beat it, you need to too. This city is so entrenched in its history, Ingalls thinks he can wipe it all away and start fresh.”
“Maybe you should warn Boudreau.”
“I have.”
It was like a fucking punch to the gut.
There were words I wanted to say, but I had to remember this was a cell phone and while my line was secure, I couldn’t say the same about Richard’s.
“Nice. I guess you’ve chosen your side.”
“It’s not like that, Everett.”