Knife in the Back

1

The Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana

Monday, February 24, 8:45 a.m.

Burke Broussard placed the papers he'd just reviewed into a drawer in his desk at Broussard Investigations. Business completed, he wanted to spend a few minutes with the man he'd called brother since they were teenagers.

"Everything looks good, as usual, Kaleb. Thank you."

Kaleb accepted the thanks with a nod and the smile Burke had grown up seeing. It was a bittersweet connection to better times, because he and Kaleb were the only ones left now.

Burke's mother, his uncle Larry. And Kyra, of course. All gone these twenty-five years. Even Kaleb's father, Uncle Larry's dear friend and business partner, was gone now. It was just Burke and Kaleb.

"Now that the business is out of the way," Kaleb said, "how the hell are you?"

The "business" was Kaleb's quarterly presentation of their company's profit and loss statement, along with the new initiatives that kept Fontenot Industries at the top of its game. Burke didn't always understand the software that the engineers were designing, but he could read a P&L. Their company was doing very well.

Kaleb Marchand was the genius behind all the tech. As the owner, Burke mostly just signed the checks. The profits he made from Fontenot allowed him to fund the work he really loved-getting justice for those who'd been let down by the law. Some of the people he aided didn't have the money to pay them. Because of Uncle Larry and his gift that kept on giving year after year, Burke could do a lot of pro bono work.

"Oh, you know," Burke said with a shrug. "Same old, same old."

Kaleb shook his head fondly. "Meaning you have loads of cases you can't tell me anything about." He looked over his shoulder to the closed office door. "Glad to see Joy looking so healthy."

"You and me both." Burke's office administrator had been shot two years before and had taken eighteen months to come back to her job full-time. Rehab took a lot longer with age. Joy wasn't all that old-only thirteen years older than Burke's forty-three-but her body had taken a real beating.

She'd nearly died.

However, she was back at her desk, and he couldn't be happier.

"How are Juliette and the kids?"

"Juliette's got the house and the office decorated for Mardi Gras," Kaleb said with a grin. "You should come over for supper."

"I will. And those godsons of mine?" Braden was fifteen, Trent thirteen. It seemed like yesterday that he'd held them at their christenings, and now they were teenagers.

Kaleb rolled his eyes. "Braden's got a girlfriend."

Burke barely controlled his wince. "Another one?"

"Yep," Kaleb said dolefully, and then his smile was back. "But Trent's getting an award in two weeks. He developed a robot in his after-school program. Did it all on his own, without my help." Kaleb's pride was clear. "It's extremely well-done."

"Apple didn't fall far from the tree," Burke drawled. "If there's a ceremony, send me the details, and I'll be there."

"You always are."

Burke's desk phone buzzed and he checked the time. "That's Joy telling me that my nine o'clock is here."

He didn't know who the appointment was with, and that had his hackles rising. Joy normally gave him all the details on clients. That she hadn't done so this morning was both intriguing and concerning.

Kaleb rose and Burke came around his desk to give him a bear hug. Kaleb grunted, then laughed, hugging him back.

"Don't break my ribs," Kaleb said. "I might need them someday."

Burke slapped his back, then let him go. "Sorry."

Kaleb looked up at him with a smirk. Kaleb was tall, around six feet, but Burke was taller. And bigger. It had been that way since they were teenagers.

"You need to find a woman who'll appreciate those bear hugs of yours," Kaleb said. "Juliette has a new list of ladies for you."

Burke opened his office door with a good-natured groan, because Juliette never tired of trying to set him up with her friends. "Can you tell her to stop?"

"I can and I have, but you know Jules."

Burke did, and he loved her. She was the sister he'd never had. "I'll figure out a way to weasel out of anything she sets up."

Kaleb chuckled. "You can try." He walked into the lobby, leaning down to kiss Joy's cheek. "I missed you, J-Bird. Glad you're back full-time."

Joy beamed up at him. "Me too. Give my love to that wife of yours."

"I will. Thank you for rescheduling me on short notice. This trip came up last minute. I fly out in a few hours."

"Safe travels," Joy said. "Bring me something from Chicago."

Kaleb smiled at her. "Chocolate?"

Joy nodded. "You've always been a smart one."

Burke waited until Kaleb had gone before leaning against Joy's desk. "Where is my nine o'clock?"

Because the lobby was empty.

"Chilling with Antoine in the computer room. She and her friend didn't want to be out in the open."

Burke nodded. "Skittish, huh?"

"One of them is." Joy's expression became troubled. "Don't say no right away, Burke."

Burke's eyes went wide. "Why would I say no?"

"Promise me," Joy pressed. "Hear her out."

Now Burke was even more intrigued. "Okay." He turned for his office door. "Send in my appointment-and her friend-when they're done 'chilling' with Antoine.'"

"We're done," a familiar woman's voice said. "And we're ready."

Burke turned, puzzled to see Sylvi Kristiansen walking up to Joy's desk. "Sylvi? What are you doing here?"

"I need your help."

Sylvi's sister Val was one of Burke's inner circle. He'd gotten to know Sylvi over the last two years, since she and Val had healed a family rift that had kept them estranged. He and Sylvi had become friends. If she needed his help, how could he possibly say no?

Then he looked over Sylvi's head to the woman standing behind her, and the smile he'd been prepared to give disappeared like mist. Rage bubbled up, and his fists clenched.

He knew this woman, too.

Naomi Cranston.

He'd met her only once, when he was a detective and she worked in the evidence room. While he'd fought to remain honest, to retain his integrity, others took the easy way. The illegal way.

Which Naomi Cranston had done.

"No," he said, then turned on his heel and walked back into his office, shutting the door hard enough that everyone would know it was his final word.

The Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana

Monday, February 24, 9:03 a.m.

"Burke Broussard!" Sylvi shouted, her anger clear as day. "You come back out here!"

"It's okay." Naomi had known this would be Broussard's response. She'd hoped for a miracle, but . . . she'd known.

"No, it's not okay." Sylvi marched to Broussard's office door, her fist lifted and ready to knock, but the soft whir of the admin's electric wheelchair stopped her.

Joy Thomas had placed herself in front of Broussard's door. "Simmer down, Sylvi. Let me talk to him."

Sylvi swallowed hard. "Okay. Thank you."

Joy squeezed Sylvi's hand. "Good girl." Then she entered Broussard's office, closing the door behind her far more gently than Broussard had.

Naomi started for the elevator. "It's no use. I told you that."

She'd been saying that ever since Sylvi had knocked on her front door Friday evening, shortly after Naomi had gotten home, shaken and terrified.

She hadn't opened the door, but Sylvi had a key for emergencies. The petite florist had used that key, storming in on Naomi as she'd sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her loaded Glock.

Had it not been for Sylvi's arrival, Naomi wasn't sure what she might have done. Now she wasn't sure what she'd do. Burke Broussard had been her only hope.

Sylvi grabbed her hand before she had a chance to press the elevator button. "Just wait. Burke will help you. Give him a few minutes."

"He said no, Syl. I have to respect that. I might say the same thing in his place."

"No, you wouldn't. You'd bend over backward to help."

She probably would, even now. Even after her willingness to help another person had contributed to her downfall. "Well, he's not me. And he said no."

"Let Joy convince him."

"I didn't come here to cause trouble."

The door opened and the whir of Joy's wheelchair had them both turning.

Joy was pointing to the open door. "Go in, Miss Cranston. He'll listen."

"And then he'll help," Sylvi said with a confidence that Naomi did not feel.

But she followed her boss into the lion's den, flinching when Joy shut the door behind them. The admin remained in the lobby, giving them privacy.

She didn't look at Broussard, who sat behind a large mahogany desk. She merely followed Sylvi to a set of visitor chairs, lowering herself into one of them as Sylvi did the same.

Broussard said nothing. Naomi kept her eyes on her hands, clutched together in her lap. She didn't need to look at the man to know this was hopeless.

Sylvi sighed. "Burke . . ." She reached out and gently separated Naomi's hands, holding one tight. "You're going to hurt yourself," she murmured.

Yes, she would. In the end, she would.

Not with the Glock, because Sylvi had locked it away. And not with any other instrument of suicide.

She truly didn't think she had it in her. Although the alternative-prison-was a compelling argument to the contrary.

But she didn't have many choices. If Broussard turned her away, she'd accept Gaffney's drugs-but not in Sylvi's van, and she'd not take them to the address that she was sure she'd be given. She'd use her own car so that Sylvi wouldn't be implicated. And then she'd call 911 and anonymously report herself.

She'd be arrested and sent back to prison. She'd tell her ex to protect their son.

Maybe Broussard could be convinced to do so as well. Protection for Everett.

Yes. That was what she'd ask for.

"What?" Broussard finally said irritably.

Naomi glanced up to find Sylvi staring Broussard down, a tiny five-foot woman glaring defiantly at a brickhouse of a man. He had to be six-five. His dark hair was cut short, his handsome face tanned, despite it being winter.

She glanced at the bicycle leaning against one wall. Biking to work would explain it. She had the brief, insane desire to grab his bike and escape the man's hawklike gaze.

"Sylvi," she whispered. "You don't need to do this."

"Yes, I do," Sylvi snapped. "Burke, you might think you know about Naomi's situation, but I can assure you that you do not."

"I know enough," Broussard said, his deep Cajun drawl rumbling out of his chest. It was a broad chest. A strong one.

He'd be able to protect Everett. And he had the reputation for taking on hard cases. Once she was back in prison, Everett would need all the help he could get.

"Did you know she was out?" Sylvi demanded.

"I'd heard."

"Her sentence was overturned."

"On a technicality," Broussard said mildly, his Cajun accent thick. "An overturned conviction is not a declaration of innocence."

And there was the rub. Naomi would never be looked at with anything other than derision again, and that hurt. However, Everett was more important than her hurt feelings.

"I want to hire you," Naomi blurted out. "To protect my son."

Sylvi and Broussard both turned to stare at her. Sylvi was stunned. Broussard looked . . . curious.

Curiosity was better than derision.

"Naomi, no." Sylvi's eyes filled with tears. "You can't."

"I don't have a choice." Tugging her hand free of Sylvi's grip, she faced Broussard head-on. "I've been given an ultimatum. Transport illegal drugs or my son will be harmed. If I don't do what they say, they will hurt him. He's only sixteen. He's innocent of all this."

Broussard glanced at Sylvi, who was now openly crying.

Her boss had a tender heart. Which, Naomi supposed, was the reason Sylvi had given her a job to begin with.

"Why not take this to the cops?" he asked.

Naomi laughed bitterly. "Because they are the cops."

Broussard's body language abruptly changed. His arms had been locked across his chest, but he lowered them to his desk and leaned forward with narrowed eyes. "Who?"

"Do you know a cop named John Gaffney?"

Broussard nodded, his expression giving nothing away. "I do."

Naomi wanted to look away but forced herself to hold firm. Broussard wouldn't respect her if she flinched. And if he didn't respect her, he wouldn't believe her.

Do this for Everett.

"He used to report to Captain Cresswell." If she hadn't been watching, she would have missed the small twitch of Broussard's jaw. That was good. He didn't like Cresswell. They had at least that in common. "I know you worked in Cresswell's department for a few years. I know you . . . left."

"Escaped," Sylvi muttered, drying her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. "Some people weren't as lucky."

"Sylvi." Broussard's voice softened. "Let me listen."

"She shouldn't have needed to invoke the name of Gaffney or Cresswell to get you to listen," Sylvi snapped.

Naomi laid a hand on her boss's arm. "He only knows what the media covered. He doesn't know the truth."

Broussard sat back in his chair. "Then tell me the truth."

Naomi squared her shoulders. She didn't have anything to lose. "I was an honest cop. I worked in the evidence room."

"Until you stole a kilo of cocaine."

Naomi shook her head. "I never did. They hid it in my car. It was found when I stopped at a traffic accident."

"To supposedly help a woman whose car had been wrecked."

Naomi remembered it all in sharp detail. "Her flashers were on and her car had been damaged. The front bumper was crushed and the driver's-side windows were broken. She looked so young and scared when she ran into the road, motioning me to stop. So I stopped. I wasn't on duty at the time, so I called it in as a hit-and-run and waited with her until the police arrived."

"And then?" Broussard asked.

"She'd asked to put her book bag in my back seat, because it was pouring down rain and her windows were broken. I let her stow it back there without another thought. The cops arrived, took her statement, then told her to get her book bag from my back seat. That's when she saw the evidence bag. Her exclamation was so believable. Even I believed her for a moment. Until I realized what was happening. It was an evidence bag full of cocaine I'd processed." She lifted her chin again. "I was careful, Mr. Broussard. I was meticulous, for all the years I did that job. There were two bags of cocaine confiscated in an arrest, but there was no record of the second bag being delivered to Evidence."