Chapter 12

12

St. Claude, New Orleans, Louisiana

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 14, 10:30 P.M.

STONE'S EYES WERE WIDE AS he lounged in Phin's recliner, Delores perched on his knee as Phin gave them the highlights of the day. "Her father was an eraser? Seriously? I did not expect that."

"An eraser that killed someone on a job," Phin said. "I think that's the hardest part of that situation for her to deal with. She went to the woman's house today thinking she would be meeting her father's mistress. It was a shock."

"Poor Cora," Delores murmured. "To find out your father was a killer. She must be devastated."

"That seemed to make her numb more than devastated, I think." Phin stroked SodaPop's silky ear. "She'll have to process it and that takes time. She was far more devastated at the thought that her attorney could be involved. I wanted to ask her about the other man we met this morning, her friend's father, but I didn't want to hurt her any more than I already had by suggesting we investigate the lawyer. The friend's father is probably fine. He seems to care about her. But I'm checking out everyone that has any contact with her."

Antoine had done some checks, but Phin had needed to see for himself. So in between installing new locks on all those windows, he'd run some background checks of his own.

Delores's lips quirked up. "Are you talking about Tandy's father? Force-of-nature whirlwind Tandy?"

Phin chuckled because that was a good description of Tandy Napier. "One and the same. She came over tonight when we were all in the attic searching for more of Jack Elliot's records."

"Did Cora tell her everything?" Delores asked. "Because I got the impression that she wanted to keep Tandy out of this."

"Cora didn't have to tell Tandy anything. Tandy kept getting distracted by all the antiques, paintings, and sculptures gathering dust up there. Cora said they'd gone up there quite a few times, mainly searching for old dresses and jewelry, but Tandy always got sidetracked and they never found what they'd been searching for. Cora finally sent her downstairs to help me install window locks. She isn't handy and didn't help me a bit, but she did about talk my ear off."

Tandy had been good company, however, and he'd learned a lot more about Cora Winslow. Like how Cora had spent her teenage summers volunteering at the library where she now worked. How she'd set up a card catalog for all the books in her grandmother's home library when she was eight years old. How she'd always wanted to write books but had been frustrated because—and Tandy's voice had dropped to a conspiratorial whisper—she had no real talent for it.

How Cora had taken care of her mother after her father left, and then her grandmother as she got older, and then her brother as he was dying. And how she'd broken a little more with the passing of each one, withdrawing more into herself, which worried Tandy to no end.

Tandy had told him of every one of Cora's attempts to track down a marrow donor for her brother, about how Cora had focused on finding her father or any of his "other children" with the "other woman." Who they now knew had never existed. He'd been impressed with Cora's ability to track down the leads she'd gleaned from the letters.

Phin's heart broke for her. She had to be cursing the time she'd spent away from her brother, now knowing that all those trips to seek her father had been for nothing.

For that alone, the letter writer needed to be punished.

"Phin?" The snapping of Stone's fingers had him looking up.

Stone was watching him carefully. "You okay?"

Phin nodded. "Not spiraling. Just thinking about all the time those damn letters cost Cora with her brother. She spent weeks trying to track her father down, weeks she could have spent with her brother while he was dying. Burke sent me a copy of all the letters. I read a few, but I'm going to read the rest tonight."

"How did she try to track her father?" Stone asked. "Did he drop any clues in the letters?"

"She used postmarks, mainly. She did an age progression on a photo of her father from twenty-three years ago, then took it to post offices and restaurants in the towns where the letters had been mailed. According to Tandy, she picked the smallest towns, figuring an out-of-towner would be noticed. But no one ever was able to positively ID Jack Elliot."

"Because he was dead," Stone said grimly. "I guess the question is, did the letter writer go to those locations to post the letters or was he—or she—able to get someone else to mail them?"

"I wondered that myself," Phin admitted. "So did Cora, apparently. She asked the postmasters at the various post offices if they'd been sent any letters or cards that had been requested to be postmarked locally. Tandy said that more than half the time, the letter had been hand postmarked by the postmaster after receiving it addressed to the post office."

"That happens a lot where we live," Delores said. "Especially around Valentine's Day. It's got to be annoying being a postal worker in Loveland, Ohio. I always feel sorry for them in February. People want their Valentine's Day cards postmarked with ‘Loveland.' I never considered that people would do that for more nefarious reasons."

Stone kissed the top of her head. "Because you're an honest person."

She raised her brows. "Have you ever done that? Sent letters to another post office to be postmarked to fool someone into thinking it came from a different place?"

Stone's gaze slid to Phin. " I haven't."

Delores's eyes widened. "Phin? You did this? Why?"

Phin glared at Stone. "Asshole."

Stone shrugged. "I don't lie to my wife."

Phin sighed. "I've sent a few cards to my family over the years. I didn't want them to track me down, so I sent them to post offices out west."

"Phin." Delores's disapproval was evident.

"I didn't want them to think I was dead."

"He had reasons," Stone said quietly. "We've talked about this."

Delores shook her head. "I know, I know. And I'm glad you at least let them know that you're not dead. When was the last time you sent them a postcard?"

Phin winced. "When I first got to New Orleans. I had it postmarked in Denver. Sorry."

"That was two years ago!" Delores exclaimed. "They have to be thinking you're lying dead in a ditch somewhere."

Phin was about to apologize again when he noticed that Stone was shifting uncomfortably. "What?" Phin demanded.

"Well." Stone blew out a breath. "They don't think you're dead in a ditch."

Phin stiffened and SodaPop moved closer. His fingers dug into her coat. It was becoming habit now. "Why do you say that?"

Delores had turned to look her husband in the eye. "Yes, Stone. Explain."

Stone pinched the bridge of his nose. "Scarlett's known you were in New Orleans for a long time."

Phin's heart stuttered. "How?"

"You rented a house, man. Your landlord ran a credit check. Do you really think she didn't have searches set up for any mention of your name? She's a cop. And she's very smart."

Phin sank back into the sofa, poleaxed. "She never came looking for me here."

Stone gave him a look of incredulity. "Are you kidding me? Why would she after you ditched her in Miami? She knows you were there. She figured out that you'd avoided her when we visited. And before you ask, no, I never said a word to her. I promised you I wouldn't, and I haven't. She still has no idea that you stay with us when you need to get away. She doesn't know that you're only twenty-five miles away from her at those times." He sighed. "She knows that you don't want to be found, Phin. She makes do with knowing you're not lying dead in a ditch. Your whole family makes do with that."

Phin felt like he'd been slapped.

Which was fair. He should be slapped. "Shit." He rubbed his hands over his face. "I'm a selfish asshole." He heard no denials from his friends, which made him feel even worse. He dropped his hands, one finding its way back into SodaPop's coat. "I will make this right. And if they tell me to leave, I will."

"I really don't think they will," Delores said quietly. "And if they do, you can stay with us. Or come back here. You have support here, Phin. They care about you, too."

Phin thought of the support he'd received in the past forty-eight hours. "They do. Burke, Val, Molly, Antoine." Cora too. She'd been so strong, but she'd needed him. "They've been including me. Letting me do stuff that they don't have to let me do. I've had so many second chances." His throat thickened. "I don't want to be the one always needing second chances."

"But you are," Stone said without an ounce of reproach. "It's not your fault. Bad shit happened to you over in the sandbox, and you were already depressed before you got there."

Phin had been. He hadn't been lying to his work group when he'd talked about journaling as a teenager. His journals and one kind guidance counselor had kept him from doing something truly unfixable.

"Have you talked to your therapist lately?" Delores asked tentatively.

"Not in a few weeks. But I'm okay right now and—" He stopped himself, feeling himself falling into old habits, where he'd mistake a slight improvement for not needing any more help. Which wasn't true. At least not for him. "And that's the best time to talk to her. When I'm level and can think."

Delores brightened like he'd given her a new puppy. "Yay! Progress."

Phin laughed. "I'll call her this week."

"Good." Stone nodded, pleased. "Since you are level and can think, let's figure out how we can help you to help Cora Winslow."

Phin was eternally grateful for the subject change. "Her house is as secure as I can make it. I'm hoping she can sleep tonight." He glanced at his buzzing phone, the notification on his screen making him frown. "What the hell?"

One of Cora's outdoor cameras had been triggered by movement close to the gate.

Someone was lurking. Dressed all in black with a ski mask.

Not the intruder who'd shot Joy, though. Wrong body type. This person was several inches shorter and far more slender. Gender was hard to tell from the camera angle.

He looked up to find Stone and Delores waiting for him to speak. "I need to get to Cora's house. Someone's trying to break in."

Stone patted Delores's back. "Let me up, babe. I'm going with him."

Phin opened a text screen. "I need to text Molly. She's on bodyguard duty tonight."

Stone shoved his feet into his shoes and grabbed his keys. "I'll start the car."

"I was afraid of this," Phin said as he sent his text. Molly replied right away that she'd seen the movement, too, and was on alert. "We've been searching her attic for two straight nights. Every fucking light on up there. We're like a damn lighthouse."

"Somebody knows you're looking for something," Delores said.

"Yes. And there are doors, windows, and a balcony on the attic level. At least they'll have a hard time getting in now. Lock up behind me, D. SodaPop, let's go."

The Garden District, New Orleans, Louisiana

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 14, 11:00 P.M.

Molly is a badass. Molly is a badass.

Cora kept reciting the words in her mind, hoping to quell her anxiety enough to sleep.

She had managed to get a decent nap after the debriefing meeting at her kitchen table. Phin had started replacing the window locks on the second floor and she'd been able to hear him moving around as she'd lain in her bed. The sound of him working had been better than a lullaby. Before she'd known it, it was dark outside and Burke's crew was up in the attic, looking for more clues her father might have left behind.

Most of Burke's crew, anyway. She'd stumbled out of her room and had nearly tripped over Phin Bishop's long legs. He'd been sitting against the opposite hall wall, his legs stretched straight out in front of him, the dragon book she'd read the night before in his hands.

He'd been "taking a break," or so he'd said. And maybe he had been. But he'd also been watching over her.

Which was so incredibly sweet. She wished he'd stayed. He would have if she'd asked, but she hadn't found the courage. She felt pathetic, needing him. But she did need him.

But he'd gone home, as had everyone else after searching the attic until ten o'clock. Everyone was gone except for Molly, who was on night duty.

Molly, who is a badass.

Molly, who can take care of anyone who tries to hurt me.

Because people were trying to get to her. Because her father had killed someone. Or maybe because he'd pissed off the wrong person by making a client disappear.

Because her father was a goddamned eraser.

The words caused the fury to bubble up inside her. She'd been on a low-level simmer since she'd left Alice VanPatten's house.

Yes, Alice had needed help, but someone else should have been the eraser. Not an accountant with a wife and two little kids at home.

"What the hell, Dad?" she muttered. "What the actual hell?"

She rolled over and punched her pillow. And if her father were still alive, still here, she might be tempted to punch him, too.

How dare he do such a dangerous job? What if one of his clients' tormentors had followed him home? What if they'd hurt her mother? Or John Robert?

Had Jack even considered that? Did he have even the least bit of worry for his own family while he was off being a fucking cowboy, helping other people?

She had to draw a deep breath, because her heart was pounding and she'd clenched her teeth so hard that her jaw ached.

If he hadn't been in Idaho, Alice VanPatten might not be alive today.

But her father wasn't alive today, because someone had killed him.

And Joy Thomas might have died yesterday because some asshole had barged into Burke's offices in broad daylight.

Looking for me. For information about me.

The same asshole had broken into her home. Five times.

She was no longer safe in her own home.

And I'm so angry.

She had to draw another deep breath because the first one hadn't worked. She was still tense. Still worked up. Still—

A loud thump from above had her sitting bolt upright in bed. She gasped and jumped out of bed, grabbing her bathrobe and her phone. The whole room had shaken.

Molly is a badass. Molly has a gun. Let Molly handle this.

But her feet weren't listening to her brain. Her home security system hadn't started blaring, so the doors and windows were still closed and locked. Right?

She charged up the stairs to the attic in her bare feet. And gasped again when she pushed through the door.

The moon was out and the attic glowed with a silver, ethereal light, illuminating four people in the room. It was…surreal.

Molly stood with her gun drawn, pointing it at the head of a…woman? Man? A figure lying on the floor.

The figure wasn't actually lying there, though. They were bucking and fighting the hands of the two men who held them down.

Phin and his friend Stone wore grim expressions as they struggled to contain the intruder, who was dressed all in black with a ski mask.

The window was wide open, letting in the cold night air. Cora shivered and considered closing the window, but that would mean walking around the four people in the surreal tableau.

The intruder was kicking now and Stone was cursing.

"Stop," Molly commanded, lowering the gun so that it was in the intruder's face. "I do not want to shoot you, but I will if you do not stop."

"Fuck you," the man muttered, and Cora had had enough.

She ran forward and dropped her full weight onto the man's legs, surprising him enough that he stopped fighting for a moment. Long enough for Phin to punch him in the jaw, subduing him.

The intruder yelped, then groaned. "Fuck all y'all."

Molly tossed Phin a pair of zip ties. "Cuff him."

"You can move now, Cora," Phin said, sounding amused. He wasn't even out of breath. Neither was Stone.

Cora, on the other hand, was panting like a dog. She rolled off the intruder's legs, coming to rest on her butt. Right next to SodaPop, who was not panting like a dog. On the contrary, she looked unruffled and calm.

Phin twisted the man so that he could get both hands behind his back and pulled the zip ties tight.

"Motherfucker," the man grunted.

"Fuck around and find out," Stone said, taking the other zip tie and restraining the man's feet.

Phin regarded Cora with a worried expression. "First, are you all right?"

Cora considered the question. "No, but I will be."

How many times would she say those words before this was finally over?

Phin nodded. "Good. Second, what were you thinking ? He could have hurt you."

Cora sighed. "I didn't want you to get kicked."

Stone chuckled. "We appreciate the sentiment. Next time, don't engage with a bucking bronco, okay?"

Cora blinked. "Next time?"

Molly huffed her displeasure. "There better not be a next time. And if there is, you stay put in your room. No running up to see what's happening."

Some of the anger that had been simmering all evening spilled over. "It's my goddamn house, Molly," she said coldly.

Molly's expression softened. "It is. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have talked to you that way. This is kind of a high-stress situation."

"Y'think?" Cora asked sarcastically. "What happened? Why didn't the alarm go off?"

"It did," Molly said. "But I'd set it to silent. Both Phin and I saw this guy lurking around your house. I went out to search and he ran away. Phin and Stone came over to give me coverage. They jumped the fence in the back of your property and we waited for him to come back."

"But that fence is six feet high."

"We're all trained for stuff like this," Molly said.

"And SodaPop? That's not part of a service dog's training, is it?"

"That was a little complicated," Stone admitted. "I went over first and Phin handed her over." He looked at the dog. "You're a good girl."

Molly smiled. "She is. I stayed on the bottom floor, Stone was on the middle floor, and Phin took the attic. We unlocked a few windows."

"You laid a trap," Cora said, her temper receding.

"We did," Stone said, then pointed at the intruder. "Einstein here picked the attic. Phin told us where he was entering and that gave us time to lock the windows we'd opened and get our asses up here to assist. The big bang was Einstein hitting the deck after Phin tackled him."

Cora glanced at Phin, hoping he was okay, that this hadn't sent him into one of his spirals. His eyes were sharp, his body tensed but only in a hyperaware way. He looked okay.

She relaxed a little more. He looked better than okay. He looked good in the silver moonlight. My knight in shining armor. The thought nearly made her smile.

"So who is this little prick?" she asked.

Molly had lowered her gun to her side. "Phin, you want to do the honors? Hurry up because I have to go downstairs. The cops are here."

Sure enough, Cora could see flashing lights reflected on the walls. "Wait a minute." She pulled her phone from her bathrobe pocket and started recording. "Go for it, Phin."

Phin pulled off the ski mask and the man glared up at them. He looked young. Eighteen or twenty at the most. His skin was pale in the moonlight, his hair a shade of red much lighter than Cora's.

Cora had never seen him before and she wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed. It would have been nice if this guy were the letter writer, but he probably hadn't even been alive when the first letter had been written.

"Cora?" Molly asked.

Cora shook her head regretfully. "Don't know him. Does he have ID?"

Stone patted him down. "No wallet. Who are you, asswipe?"

The man set his jaw sullenly and said nothing.

Molly holstered her gun. "I'm going to let the police in. Keep recording, Cora."

"Oh, I will." She glanced around her camera at Phin. "Thank you."

He nodded once. "I'm sorry we woke you up."

"I couldn't sleep." Because he hadn't been here. "It's all starting to hit me."

"I thought it might be," Phin said in his quiet way. "I'll make you some tea when we're all done here. Maybe that will help you sleep."

She smiled at him. "Maybe."

Stone was smirking. "I might want tea, too, Phineas. Aren't you going to offer me some?"

Phin flipped him the bird. "Shut up." But his lips were twitching.

Footsteps on the stairs had them all turning for the door. Two uniformed officers came in, followed by a rumpled Detective Clancy.

Clancy took one look at the scene and sighed. "Bishop and O'Bannion. You two again?"

"You're welcome," Stone deadpanned.

Clancy snorted a laugh. "Thank you." He crouched next to the intruder. "Not the same guy as last time."

"No," Phin said. "This guy is smaller. Tiny even."

The man's eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, pursing his lips.

Clancy turned to Cora. "Are you all right, Miss Winslow?"

"I am. It was mostly over by the time I ran up here. Phin and Stone had matters well in hand."

"She sat on his legs," Stone offered. "It was kind of a group effort."

Cora laughed and it sounded thin and hysterical to her own ears. "I think I really need that tea." She righted her phone so that the intruder was in the frame. Recording was the only thing she could do at the moment. She felt powerless and it sucked.

Clancy looked sympathetic. "You're sure you're okay?"

Cora shoved what probably would have been another manic sound back down. "No, actually. I'm not injured, though. Who is this man?"

Clancy shrugged. "I don't recognize him. Didn't you check him for ID?"

"No wallet," Phin said.

"Who are you?" Clancy demanded. The man deliberately looked away.

Clancy sighed again and rose. "It's gonna be like that, I guess. Get him on his feet," he said to the officers. "Cuff him and cut the zips, then pat him down." He pointed to the man who now stood, his expression surly. "You will not give these officers any trouble."

Cora thought the detective wanted to deliver a more pointed threat, but Cora was still recording on her phone.

The man sneered but still said nothing.

The officers patted the intruder down as instructed and Cora's stomach dropped further. The man had a snub-nosed handgun and three different knives.

But perhaps equally terrifying were the matches they pulled from his pants pocket. There was a gas can on the balcony outside the still-open window.

"He was going to try to burn my house down?" Cora whispered.

"Well?" Clancy asked the man.

The man spat, his spittle landing a half inch from Clancy's shoe.

The detective shook his head. "You're just piling up the charges, aren't you?" He looked up and gave a satisfied grunt. "You've installed a sprinkler system."

Cora nodded. "Back in the nineties when my parents did some renovation." That was when they'd been newlyweds and had expected to live in this house forever. "My mother said it lowered the homeowner's insurance rate."

"Smart. I wish more of these old houses did that. Still could have caused some damage, though." He walked to the window. "Was it locked?"

"No," Phin said. "We unlocked it. We wanted to know who he was. But none of us know him, either."

Clancy shook his head at the now-handcuffed intruder. "Who sent you? Because they sure wasted their money. I hope they didn't pay you in advance. You walked right into a trap."

The man gave them all a look filled with hate.

"That's what I figured," Clancy said. "We'll run his prints through AFIS and if that doesn't get a hit, he'll tell us his name when it's time to call his lawyer. Why this room? What's so important in Miss Winslow's attic?"

"We don't know," Molly said, having returned at some point. She leaned against the wall near the door. "I thought he might have figured it was the best way to get to Miss Winslow, but the matches and gasoline changes things. We're hoping that he'll tell you."

Cora heard what Molly didn't say—that they'd been looking for her dead father's records and that was what someone wanted destroyed enough to risk sending this bozo. She wondered when they'd tell the police but decided to go with the flow for the moment.

The intruder shook his head at Molly's words, his sneer becoming a smirk that Cora wanted to knock right off his face. He didn't even look scared, despite possessing weapons, gasoline, and matches.

Cora thought that smirk might be the most frightening of all. Who'd sent him? And did that person have enough influence to get him out? Was that why he was so arrogant?

"We'll figure out what he was looking for," Clancy said, then looked down at Cora's bare feet. "It's cold up here. I'll be sending CSU up in a bit, but we can't close the window until they've dusted for prints. Why don't we all go downstairs? I can get your statements in the kitchen where it's got to be warmer."

One of the uniforms dragged the intruder with them down the stairs, followed by Molly and the detective. Cora hit the stop-record button on her phone, then tugged Phin's jacket, keeping him from leaving, too.

"Why did you come back?" she asked. "I'm glad you did, but what made you?"

Phin met her gaze directly. "We've had the lights on up here for two straight nights."

"Oh. Come and rob me," she murmured.

"Something like that. Whoever's been watching you knows we're searching for something. I worried about that. And when I saw the asshole lurking near your gate on the camera feed, I just…"

"Rushed to rescue me?" Cora asked with a smile. "Thank you." She turned to Stone, who was watching them with eagle eyes. "You too. Thank you both."

Stone nodded. "You're welcome. See you downstairs." He disappeared through the door, leaving her alone with Phin and the other uniform.

"Do you have to leave again?" she asked Phin.

Phin tilted her chin up, his finger gentle under her chin. "Still can't sleep?"

She shivered and it wasn't all from the cold. His finger was warm against her skin. She wished he'd cup her face in his palm. She craved the contact, but the simple touch on her chin was all he was offering at the moment. "No. I'm sorry. I hate to ask, but…"

"I'll stay. I'll sit outside your door like I did earlier. SodaPop and I."

"I don't want you to have to sit on the hard floor."

He shrugged. "I've sat in far more uncomfortable places and slept sitting against a wall more times than I want to count. I want you to get some rest and I can sleep out there. I'll wake up if anyone approaches. Army taught me that."

She wanted to argue, but fatigue was finally closing in. "Okay. Thank you."

"Now let's go get that tea. Your feet have to be like ice."

The Garden District, New Orleans, Louisiana

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 14, 11:45 P.M.

"Well," Sage murmured, watching through his binoculars as the cop pushed a man dressed in black into the back of the squad car. "That's interesting."

He'd been debating the wisdom of his own entry into the attic when he'd seen the man casing the Winslow house an hour before. It had been a golden opportunity, actually. If there was a security system, Sage could've found out how long it took for alarms to screech. He also could've judged the response time of Broussard's people.

The man in black had been Sage's canary in the mine.

Better that dude get caught than me.

Sage had had his answer when one of the bodyguards opened the front door and shined a flashlight around. The man had run back into the shadows of the neighbors' homes and the bodyguard had gone back into the house. The whole episode had taken less than a minute, which meant that they had cameras and had seen the guy lurking outside.

Sage had decided that a search of the house was now too risky. Broussard's people had cameras and a quick response.

He'd been right to wait. Now there were a lot more people in Winslow's house. Three bodyguards plus the Winslow woman. He'd been able to see their silhouettes in the attic window as they'd taken the intruder down.

Throw in a detective and a couple of cops who'd responded to the scene, and the house was too damn crowded for him.

Broussard's people had been searching the attic for sure. The room had been bright as day for hours that evening, like a beacon lighting the night.

Which made Sage wonder what the hell they were looking for. But checking for himself wasn't worth the risk.

He'd been chafing at the bit, needing to do something, to learn something, but he wouldn't be doing that in Winslow's house.

Sage was frustrated that Alan hadn't gone back into his safe.

Not yet.

But maybe the old man could be nudged a little.

Sage dialed his grandfather's cell phone, gratified when a sleepy Alan answered.

"What?"

Sage grinned. He'd woken the old bastard up to boot. Bonus. "I know you told me to stay away from Cora Winslow, but I can't let it go. I failed in Broussard's office and I need to make it up to you."

"What have you done?" Alan asked coldly, the venom in his voice plain to hear.

Which meant that his grandfather had been sleeping alone. He'd never let Lexy hear him talking like that. The only people who ever heard that tone were Sage and one or two others who'd had the misfortune to be inducted into Alan's closest circle.

Sage made his tone properly respectful, even though it nearly made him gag. "Nothing, I swear. I haven't interacted with the Winslow woman or the woman she visited this morning. But I'm sitting on the curb a block from her house and the police are there."

"Why?" Alan asked, suddenly more alert.

"Those PIs she hired have been searching her attic and once they all left, some dude tried to break in. Climbed to the third-floor balcony with a gas can in his hand. I know we didn't hire him. Did we?"

"No," Alan snapped. "We did not."

Sage didn't know if he believed that or not.

Probably not. Considering the secret safe with secret guns, it seemed that Alan had a secret agenda going.

"How long was the ‘dude' in the house?" Alan demanded.

"Not long at all. I think the PIs had set a trap for him. There were three people from Broussard's firm in the house, along with Cora Winslow. I don't think this guy expected that."

"I see. That's valuable information. When did they begin searching the attic?"

"They've been at it all evening tonight. Last night, too."

"See if you can find out what they were looking for, but do not take risks. One of the first things Broussard would have done is make sure she had a good security system. I don't want you to get caught."

How caring of the old man. But the care was only for himself. Alan used everyone. Including me.

"I don't want to get caught, either. The area's too hot right now."

Breaking into his grandfather's safe would be much less risky and a much more productive use of his time.

Ending the call, he pulled away from the curb and headed back to his condo. He wasn't going to call attention to himself by waiting around with so many cops on the scene. The bodyguards would be even more vigilant from now on. Everyone would be considered a threat, every parked car suspect.

He wished he knew exactly what Broussard's people had been looking for in the attic. He knew that Cora had been looking for clues into her father's death before she'd brought Broussard in. Sage had gleaned that much from the conversations she'd had with the Terrebonne Parish sheriff, with the NOPD, and with Broussard's people before they'd discovered his bugs.

That they'd been searching the attic for information relating to Jack Elliot made sense. But he might not ever find out exactly what that was.

He'd have to come at this from his grandfather's angle, whatever that was.

He'd just pulled into his parking place in his condo's garage when his phone beeped.

Yes. That was the camera he'd planted earlier that day.

He held his breath, watching as his grandfather twisted the dial forward, backward, and forward again before pulling the handle. He used the numbers he could see from his side view to extrapolate the exact numbers Alan had chosen.

One-zero-fifteen.

Huh. That date wasn't on the list of any that he'd considered.

He wondered at the significance of the date, then exhaled on a rush when it hit him.

He'd seen that date recently. Or a date close to it.

If the combination was a date, that would be October 15—one day before law enforcement believed Jack Elliot had been stuffed into the foundation of the Damper Building, because the concrete had been poured on October 16.

His grandfather's secret safe with secret guns had a combination one day earlier than the day that Jack Elliot had been murdered.

Hands visibly shaking on the camera feed, Alan put a single piece of paper back into the safe. He started to close the safe, but after a moment's hesitation, he pulled out what appeared to be a photograph.

The angle was wrong, dammit. Sage couldn't see what—or who—the photo was of.

Alan stared at the photo for a long, long minute, expression weary and full of regret. Which was a big deal because Alan didn't seem to regret anything.

Alan put the photo back into the safe, closed the door, and twisted the handle. He leaned into the safe, resting his forehead on the metal for several seconds before straightening and closing the bookshelf.

Sage switched to one of the first cameras he'd planted.

His grandfather returned to his desk, immediately dropping his head into his hands.

Sage stared at the image of his grandfather. The old man had always been strength and self-control personified. Now? Alan was broken.

What have you done, old man?