Shaw Kinnard and Jordie Bennett were nowhere to be seen.

Chapter 32

Where are we going?”

“Just keep walking.”

Shaw propelled Jordie across Canal Street. He was walking fast and with purpose, but they were swimming upstream of the pedestrians who’d been lured toward the apparent emergency behind the hotel, the destination of speeding vehicles with flashing lights and sirens.

She and Shaw crossed the streetcar tracks in the median and then had to wait for the traffic light to change before they could cross the lanes of oncoming traffic. Had he not been pushing her along, she couldn’t have kept up with his brisk clip.

Without slowing his pace, he pulled off the hoodie and dropped it wrong side out into the lap of a homeless man who was semireclined in the recessed doorway of an abandoned building. The man didn’t even look up.

Once on the other side of the busy boulevard, they entered the French Quarter. Even on a Monday night, it was thronged. The busy vendor of a souvenir kiosk didn’t notice when Shaw yanked a t-shirt off a rack. It was a flashy purple-gold-and-green-striped thing with a sequin fleur de lis on the chest.

He thrust it at her. “Put this on over your shirt.”

He also lifted an LSU baseball cap from off the head of a stuffed alligator and snatched several strands of Mardi Gras beads hanging from a peg. He put on the cap and draped the beads around her neck.

Beneath her shirt, the bulletproof vest was heavy and hot. Another layer would make it worse, but when Shaw ordered her again to put on the t-shirt, she pulled the gaudy thing over her head without missing a beat.

“How bad was Hickam?”

“Bad.”

“Do you think he’ll die?”

“Probably.”

Her breath caught. “We should go back.”

“And let Panella get you, too?”

“You can’t be sure it was Panella.”

“Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better.”

“We left a crime scene. Joe Wiley will be beside himself.”

“I’m doing him a favor.”

“How’s that?”

“You’re one less thing he’ll have to deal with tonight.”

“I don’t think he’ll see it that way.”

“Me either.”

“You could always tell him that you placed me under arrest.”

He threw his arm across her shoulders like an affectionate lover, pulled her close to his side, and nuzzled her hair away from her ear. “I have.”

Astonished, she tilted her head back and looked at him. The upper half of his face was shadowed by the bill of the baseball cap, but there was no mistaking the set of his jaw. He wasn’t kidding. She tried to shake him off, but he held firm, even though he grunted with pain as they struggled.

“You can’t arrest me.”

“Hell I can’t, and if you don’t stop that I’ll cuff you for resisting.”

“What are you arresting me for?”

“Lying to federal agents. The others didn’t know you were, but I did.”

“When did I lie? About what?”

“Your phone conversation with Josh.”

“No one would even have known he’d called me if I hadn’t told. Everything I said was the truth.”

“Maybe, but what did you leave unsaid?”

She remained silent.

“Um-huh. It’s that missing stuff that I want to hear, Jordie. Until further notice, consider yourself under arrest.” And then he Mirandized her, whispering her constitutional rights into her ear as though they were sweet nothings.

Even though by now they were blocks away from the hotel, he didn’t relax his vigilance. While playacting that they were an affectionate couple out for an evening of fun, he remained alert and watchful. He jammed his bloodstained hand into his jeans pocket to avoid it being noticed. When a police helicopter flew in low and hovered, he pulled her into a carryout daiquiri place where they stood in line like other customers until the chopper moved on.

Once he stopped abruptly in the middle of the narrow sidewalk and let a pack of rowdy, inebriated young men eddy around them and then engaged one of the stragglers in conversation as though they were buddies.

After separating from the group and moving on, she asked, “Do we have a destination? Where are you taking me?”

Shaw didn’t answer; she didn’t bother to ask again.

She was well acquainted with the city and the Quarter, so she knew that in addition to quickly crossing streets in the middle of the block and ducking into and out of crowded shops, they were going in circles and doubling back frequently.

Finally she asked, “Are you afraid we’re being followed?”

“Wishful, actually. I’d love nothing better than for Panella to be on our tail.”

“Why?”

“I could take him out and not have to justify my means.”

He wasn’t kidding about that, either.

They walked for another half hour. Either he grew too weak to continue, or he became convinced that no one was following them. He slowed their pace, and, after taking a final look behind them, rounded a corner.

Different from the noisy, commercial streets, this one was dark and quiet. An elderly couple were walking an ancient-looking dog on a leash. Otherwise the street was deserted.

They had almost reached the next corner when Shaw stopped at an iron gate that led into a narrow alley between two brick buildings, both of which were shuttered and dark. Tiny ferns sprouted from cracks in the crumbling mortar.

He worked the combination to open the padlock on the gate, then pushed it open. The hinges squealed. Jordie wondered if perhaps that noise passed for a security system.

Once they were through the gate, Shaw reached between the pickets and replaced the padlock, then took her hand and led her down the alley, which wasn’t much wider than his shoulders. The stepping-stones were loose and uneven, slippery with moss.

The alley opened into a walled courtyard dominated by a live oak tree that formed a canopy over the area. What at one time must have been a lovely garden was now derelict. The vines clinging to the enclosing walls were either overgrown or dead. The cherub in the center of the concrete fountain was missing an arm, and she seemed to be looking forlornly into the stagnant water in the basin at her feet.

Shaw climbed a metal staircase affixed to the building’s exterior wall, pulling Jordie behind him. At the top, he worked loose a brick from the adjacent wall, took out a key and unlocked the door, then guided her into the enveloping darkness inside. He closed the door before switching on the light.

He tossed the key onto the top of a bookshelf then crossed to a window-mounted AC unit and turned it on. “I haven’t been here in a few days, so it’ll take a while to cool down.”

Jordie looked around in wonder. The living area in which they stood shared an open space with a compact kitchen, an eating bar separating the two. A door on her left led into what was obviously a bedroom. The apartment was inexpensively but comfortably furnished, the pieces arranged to maximize the limited floor space.

After taking a long look around, she came back to him. “You live here?”

“No. An apartment in Atlanta is my permanent residence. If you can call it that. I’m rarely there.”