Читать книгу Bayou Jeopardy - Rita Herron - Страница 6

Eight years ago when Katrina hit New Orleans and turned the city inside out, Mack Rivet had lost everything. His job as a detective. The woman he loved.

And the little boy she had been carrying.

He slid onto his usual bar stool at the Gator Saloon, shaking rain off his jacket as he made himself at home. Outside, the monsoon continued.

Cars were flooding. The river rising. People frantically searching for backup generators in case they lost power.

The bartender, Cooter Willis, set a cold black-and-tan in front of him, and Mack nodded his thanks.

He sipped the beer, hoping the cold liquid would soothe his nerves. But that same soul-deep ache ate at him as the storm continued to rage. Every time it rained, the haunting memories returned. Half of New Orleans’s residents probably shared them.

Images of Lily and their little boy flashed in his mind.

If his son had survived, he would be eight. Mack would be carrying him to Saints games, teaching him how to shuck oysters, taking him gator watching in his pirogue in the bayou.

And Lily…beautiful, sweet Lily. She’d been too good for a man like him, but that hadn’t seemed to matter. If she’d lived, they’d be making love right now, maybe making a second baby.

He chugged the beer, then slammed the glass down on the bar.

Reading his mood, Cooter slid him another one.

He’d been nursing his wounds for so long he didn’t know how to do anything else. Hiding out in bayou country while the city rebuilt itself.

Grieving.

And waiting for the chance to clear his name.

Eight years later, and he was no closer to that than the day Lee Barnaby had him hauled to jail. But he had been doing his research, keeping an eye on all the players.

He turned his second beer up and drank, the stench of his conversation with Barnaby still eating at him.

He hated most that Lily had died believing he was on the take.

“You’re just like your old man,” Barnaby had said. “You’ll die in prison, too.”

Hell, his father might have been dirty. But Mack had worked hard to stay on the up-and-up.

It hadn’t mattered, though.

Sure, there had been corruption in the NOPD. The feds had known it and had enlisted him and his best friend, Remy Comeaux, into helping Special Agent Ray Storm with the investigation. The task force had been close to breaking that corruption wide open when Katrina hit.

Then all their lives had gone to hell.

He and Remy had been arrested. Ray transferred to God knew where.

The bar grew noisy as Friday night patrons filed in, and Cooter flipped on the TV.

A special news report suddenly interrupted the commercial, and a photograph of the very man he hated flashed on the screen. Lee Barnaby.

In handcuffs.

What the hell?

“In a shocking twist tonight, our city’s chief of police, Lee Barnaby, has been arrested on charges of corruption as well as assault and attempted murder.” The camera flashed onto Barnaby, who ducked his head, obviously trying to avoid being seen on camera.

“Private detective Remy Comeaux, who was once part of the NOPD himself, not only found evidence of drug trafficking, but apparently he saved Carlotta Worthington’s life when Mr. Barnaby allegedly assaulted her.” The reporter took a breath, then continued, “NOPD officer Doyle Shriver was killed when he became suspicious, leading to Lee Barnaby’s arrest on corruption, tampering with evidence and the far more heinous crimes of the attempted murder of Carlotta Worthington. At this point, detectives believe they are just beginning to uncover the truth as to Mr. Barnaby’s criminal activity. A full investigation is now under way.”

Mack’s pulse hammered. Remy had phoned him a couple of times this past week, but he hadn’t taken the call. He hadn’t known why Remy was back.

Did he wonder if Remy and Ray believed he was dirty?

Suddenly the beer burned like acid in his belly. He motioned to Cooter to get him a shrimp po’boy so he could sober up.

If Remy proved Barnaby was dirty, maybe Mack could prove Barnaby had set him up. It wouldn’t bring back his wife and son, but clearing his name would be something.

LILY LANDRY RIVET LEANED over to kiss her son good-night, her heart swelling with love. He might have been born on the worst night in the history of New Orleans, but he was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

And every time she looked at him, she saw Mack Rivet, his father.

They shared the same coal-black hair, the same soul-deep brown eyes and the same bad-boy attitude.

It was a damn shame Mack hadn’t gotten to know him.

Winston gave her a surly look as if he knew it was bedtime but he wasn’t ready, and she almost laughed.

Maybe it was better he hadn’t known his father. Especially after what she’d learned the night of Katrina…

“Do you have to go tonight, Mom?” Winston asked.

Lily ruffled his hair. “I told Grandpa I would, honey. But if you need anything, Anita will be here.”

“I’m too old for a babysitter,” Winston said with a pout.

“Anita is Grandpa’s cook and maid and part of the family,” Lily said. “So be nice to her.”

Lily kissed him again. “Ten more minutes, then get some sleep. We’ll go to the parade tomorrow.”

His eyes lit up, and he crawled into bed with his computer. One of his favorite parts of living in New Orleans was the parades. And Mardi Gras had been an exciting experience.

The kid was obsessed with alligators, too.

She left the room, then grabbed her shawl.

She’d agreed to accompany her father to help him with the fundraiser. Gerard Barrow had been the deputy director of the Louisiana Disaster Avoidance Task Force, LDAT, before Katrina. Since the flooding, he’d worked hard to rebuild the city. Her father had been his right-hand man, and she had joined the efforts.

She checked her lipstick in the mirror then descended the steps. Her father was waiting with his driver. He ushered her into the limo, and they headed toward the Quarter.

But loneliness settled into her as they drove down Saint Charles Avenue, and she fingered the emerald stone at her neck. It was smaller than the expensive jewelry her father had given her, but Mack had bought it for her the night after they’d first made love, and she hadn’t been able to let go of it.

Even after NOPD officer Charles Gibbons had shown her proof that Mack was a dirty cop and that he had been cheating on her.

MACK PULLED HIS JACKET up to keep the rain from soaking his neck as he went to meet Remy.

A limo rolled by, spewing rain all over him, and he cursed. Damn rich people thought they owned the world. Maybe that had been Barnaby’s problem. He’d wanted to be one of them.

Mack never had. Never would.

Even if he had wanted it, he wouldn’t have fit. Lily’s father had pointed that out repeatedly.

He ducked beneath an awning. The rain had finally stopped, but water stood in the alleys, dripping from the storefronts. A half-dozen patrons strolled in and out of the bars, and tourists rushed by. A man and woman holding hands caught his eye as they stopped to window-shop at the jewelry store where he’d bought Lily an emerald, and his gut tightened.

But the sight of Remy Comeaux with his Saints hat on jerked Mack back to his mission. Remy visually searched the area. Maybe he was worried about repercussions from Barnaby’s arrest.

If Barnaby had cronies working for him, they might seek revenge against Remy.

Mack walked toward him, his gaze tracking the area in case he was walking into a trap.

Once a cop, always a cop.

“Long time.” Remy gestured toward the fence behind them. “Last time I saw you we were leaving that jail.”

Mack chuckled. “Yeah, I heard your papers got lost.”

“Yours probably did, too,” Remy said.

“That doesn’t mean that my name is clear.”

Remy nodded. “Barnaby’s in jail. That’s a start. But he’s just a small part of this game.”

“Go on.”

“Like Ray said eight years ago, the corruption runs about as deep and wide as Lake Pontchartrain.”

Mack shoved his hands in his pockets. “Any evidence?”

“Suspicions ranging from police corruption to financial plans for the city’s rebuilding efforts to politics.”

“You’re talking about the mayor?” Mack asked.

“Yeah, maybe even higher.”

Remy removed a file from inside his jacket and handed it to him. “Look over that and see what you think.”

Mack opened the file. Charles Gibbons’s name was scrawled there, although Remy had made a note that Gibbons had led Remy to a drug dealer connected to Barnaby, so Gibbons was an ally.

Mayor Barrow was on the list. So was Melvin Landry.

His mind raced.

Landry had money and was buddies with Barrow. If there was corruption with the rebuilding funds, Barrow and Landry might be involved.

Suspicions rose. Landry had disliked him, hadn’t wanted him to marry his precious daughter, Lily.

Had Landry framed him to get him away from his daughter?

“What do you think?” Remy asked. “Are you in?”

Mack’s gaze met Remy’s. “You want me to work with you? I thought—”

“That I believed the charges against you?” Remy’s low chuckle rumbled. “Did you believe them about me?”

Mack shook his head. “Not for a damn minute.”

A smile creased his friend’s face. “Me, neither.”

Emotions Mack hadn’t felt in a long time hit him. “Oh, yeah, I’m in. If Lily’s father set me up, I’ll nail him.”

Remy pushed another piece of paper into his hand. “Landry’s at a dinner with the mayor now at this restaurant.”

He and Remy agreed to keep in touch, and Mack walked toward the restaurant, a pricey two-story establishment. The rain began to drizzle again, the sky dark with more clouds.

All he could think about was the fact that he might finally find out who’d ruined his reputation and sent him to jail on trumped-up charges.

He stopped across the street from the place, the sounds of Bourbon Street echoing with partiers.

He people watched for a while, listening to the rhythmic blues and zydeco music, then finally the dinner party spilled onto the veranda overlooking the city.

Mayor Barrow. His wife, Genita. Three other men he didn’t recognize.

Then Melvin Landry strode outside, a glass of champagne in his hand, a woman on his arm.

Mack squinted through the rain to see who was with him, but shadows hid the woman’s face. Still, she had blond hair piled on top of her head, blond hair that reminded him so much of Lily that his throat closed.

She said something to Landry, walked to the edge of the veranda and looked out over the Quarter, a sliver of streetlight catching her face.

Mack staggered backward.

Dear God. It was Lily.