“Now that’s what I call synchronicity.” She cocked her head, her expression benign, but he could see the glitter of anger in her electric blue eyes. “What I find really strange, though, is that you don’t seem all that surprised to see me. Why is that?”
“I’ve been in this business for a long time. Nothing surprises me anymore.”
“That whole jaded G-man shtick…” She waved a hand. “It’s a little tired, don’t you think?”
Her drawl was exaggerated, her tone openly goading. Nash was amused. He tossed aside the paper and picked up his coffee cup. “How did you know where to find me?”
“I heard you like to come here. Seems you’re a creature of habit.” She smiled at his expression. “Now you do look surprised. You federal boys aren’t the only ones with the resources and know-how to track someone down, you know.”
“Well, we do have a pretty good record,” he said.
“Right. And how’s that whole Jimmy Hoffa search coming along?”
“We’re still pursuing leads,” he said without cracking a smile. “We don’t like to rush in impulsively and make a lot of mistakes.”
She missed his subtle jab. Or ignored it. “If that’s what passes for a sense of humor down at the federal building these days, I think you guys should seriously rethink having those sticks removed from your butts.”
“Now that’s funny,” he said.
“Really? Because I was dead serious.” She waved off an approaching waitress, then glanced at his empty cup. “Oh, did you want more coffee?”
“That’s okay. One cup’s my limit.”
“The old Hoover Discipline, huh?”
Nash shoved the empty cup aside and sat back against the padded bench. “So now that you’ve found me, what is it I can do for you, Detective Theroux?”
“I’d like to ask you some questions, if you don’t mind.”
“Am I to consider this an official NOPD visit?”
“Official?” She threaded her fingers together and popped her knuckles. “Not hardly, considering I’ve been taken off the Courtland case. But then, I expect you already knew about that, too, didn’t you?”
“What makes you think so?”
She cut her eyes to the ceiling as if considering the answer. “Oh, let’s see, maybe because less than twenty- four hours after I spot you at a crime scene, I’m removed from the case for reasons that don’t make a whole helluva lot of sense. And at the same time, my captain just happens to let your name drop. Call me paranoid, but I can’t help wondering if there’s a connection.”
So much for Draiden’s subtlety. “I think you must be laboring under a gross misapprehension, Detective. The FBI doesn’t make a habit of meddling in the operation of local police departments.”
“You don’t make a habit of getting your hands dirty with plain old everyday murder, either, but there you were at my crime scene yesterday. Are you telling me that was a coincidence? You just happened to be in the neighborhood?”
When he said nothing, she smiled. “I’ll take your lack of response as a no.”
“All right,” he finally said. “Let’s just say, for the sake of argument, we currently have an ongoing situation that’s eaten up a lot of manpower, resources and taxpayer money over the past couple of years. We wouldn’t like it much if some clueless detective blundered in over her head and we had to risk the whole operation just to wade in and pull her out.”
Temper flared in her eyes, but she managed to give him a sly smile. “For someone so clueless, I seem to have gotten your attention pretty fast.”
“Clueless only in regard to our current situation. Goes without saying you’re an intelligent detective with a reputation for being tenacious and thorough in your investigations. In fact, it’s your tenacity that worries us the most. Obviously, in law enforcement, resolve and determination are admirable qualities, but in this case, an obstinate disposition could be a detriment to everyone involved.”
“I like all those big words,” she said. “A clueless bumpkin like me gets all tingly at anything over two syllables. But maybe, just so I can keep up, you could dial it back a notch and explain to me again how doing my job is such a bad thing.”
“It’s simple. Inadvertently stirring up a hornet’s nest could get a lot of people killed. Yourself included.”
“The hornet’s nest being Sonny Betts?”
“He has a lot of fingers in a lot of pies these days, and a cop asking questions would be of less concern to him and his people than a speed bump. After all, you have to drive around a speed bump, but a nosy detective could just be made to go away. Is that blunt enough for you?”
“That’s pretty blunt, all right.”
“Good.” He threw some bills on the table and stood. “Why don’t we take a walk?”
Outside, a bank of low-lying clouds temporarily obscured the sun, dropping the temperature to the low nineties, and the breeze that blew off the river felt cool in the shade along Decatur. The doors to some of the souvenir shops were open and the scent of jasmine and frangipani drifted through, mingling with the less appealing aroma of the gutter.
As they neared Jackson Square, the carriages were already lined up along the curb, and the bored horses swished away flies and gnats with their tails as they watched the passersby with dark, liquid eyes.
Nash and Evangeline walked into the square and sat down on a bench near Pirates’ Alley, where the sidewalk artists were busily setting up their paints and easels beneath striped umbrellas. The air here smelled old and damp, the timeless perfume of crumbling brick, stagnant fountains and creeping ivy.
“I’ve always liked coming here,” Nash said. “It was one of the things I missed most about New Orleans when I lived in Washington.”
She turned in surprise, as if his casual comment had caught her off guard. “What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?”
He shrugged. “Just making an observation.”
She looked as if she didn’t quite know what to make of him at that moment. A part of her wanted to demand they go back to their previous conversation, while another part cautioned she might learn something useful if she just sat back and let him do the talking.
He smiled to himself. He had no doubt Evangeline Theroux was a complicated woman, but in some respects, he could read her quite easily.
“What’s with that shit-eating grin?” she asked suspiciously.
“Nothing. Like I said, I enjoy coming to the Quarter.”
She settled back against the warm wrought-iron bench. “You must have been gone a long time. You’ve lost your accent.”
She sat near him on the bench, her shoulder not quite touching his, but Nash could feel the warmth from her body. He found something strangely comforting about her nearness. Something softly reminiscent about the sound of her voice and the scent of lavender that drifted up from her hair. He recognized the feeling for what it was, of course—the first faint stirring of attraction.
And it seemed to Nash at that moment that her appeal was in keeping with the nostalgic tug of the Quarter. Detective Theroux and her drawl seemed very much a part of the New Orleans that had called out to him when he was away.
“A lot of people are afraid to come here these days,” he said. “They consider it a haven for all sorts of deviants and miscreants. And they’re right. You’ll see all kinds in the Quarter. But the past is here, too. You can smell it in the air. History lingers on every street corner, along with the hustlers and the hookers and the burnt-out dopers.”
“How poetic.”
He smiled. “For all its decadence, the enduring spirit of the Quarter is actually what gives me the most hope for this city.”
She was still looking at him strangely, not able to figure him out. “It’s a nice thought,” she said. “But I’m not so sure I agree. Sometimes I think our inability to let go of the past is our biggest problem. It keeps us tethered to
