that was the way he liked it. He was finally at a comfortable place in his life. He neither looked forward with anticipation nor back with regret. Instead he’d learned to take each moment as it came. He liked his job, he liked New Orleans and he liked living alone.
On the rare occasions when he allowed himself time to reflect, his thoughts more often turned to his daughter rather than to his two failed marriages.
Jamie was his real failure, but that was a door he couldn’t afford to open too often and never while on the job. The guilt and anger, even after all these years, still had the power to overwhelm him. To creep up and steal his composure if he wasn’t careful.
Luckily, Nash was an expert at keeping his professional life separate from his personal. That was one of the reasons his first wife had left him. That…and because she didn’t want to deal with her own guilt. Better just to run away. Start over. Find someone who could give her what she wanted and needed. A new life, a new husband, a new family.
Nash wondered if Deb ever even thought of Jamie these days. All that social climbing probably kept her pretty busy.
Not that he had any room to cast such bitter stones. How long had it been since he’d driven to St. Gabriel to see Jamie? Hadn’t that been his reason for transferring back to New Orleans? So he could spend more time with her?
He tore his thoughts from his beautiful, tormented daughter and concentrated instead on Evangeline Theroux. He told himself his preoccupation with the detective was necessary in order to determine the best way to handle what could still turn out to be a sticky situation.
Of course, he knew better.
The truth was, he liked thinking about her. He liked being with her, too. There was something sensual about the way she carried herself. Something earthy and elemental about his response to her.
Hidden underneath that tough veneer was a very appealing woman.
His phone rang and he hauled it out to check the caller ID. It was Tom Draiden.
“Yeah?”
“I just heard something that’s going to give you a real tingle. Nathan Mallet’s back in town.”
Nash swore. “How reliable is the intel?”
“I’d say about ninety-nine-point-nine percent. What do you think brought him back?”
“He still has family in town. Could be he just got homesick.”
“Should we pick him up?”
“Not yet. Let’s cut him a little slack and see what he does with it.”
Tom chuckled. “Careful, Nash. Your sadistic side is showing.”
Nash ended the call as he hurried out of the square. He’d hoped Nathan Mallet was out of their hair for good, but he should have known better. Mallet had too many ties to New Orleans. Like a bad penny, he was bound to keep turning up, but the former cop still had plenty of secrets. It was those secrets that made him so controllable.
Besides, even if he did decide to renew old acquaintances, it wasn’t too late to come up with a more permanent solution.
Evangeline Theroux was the real loose cannon here. If she began to put it all together, a two-year operation could easily explode in their faces because hell had no fury like a scorned woman.
But even now, Nash had a hard time reconciling the threat she constituted with her appearance. No doubt people underestimated her all the time, but that was a mistake he couldn’t afford to make.
That afternoon, Evangeline met Mitchell for lunch at a little takeout joint on Magazine Street. They carried their trays to the picnic tables around back and sat down in the shade of a pistachio tree. Despite a brief rainstorm earlier, the heat was thick and oppressive, and Evangeline pressed an icy can of Dr Pepper to her cheek.
“You said on the phone you needed to talk to me about something,” Mitchell said as he tucked into his fried oyster po’boy. It was dressed and messy, and the look on his face was pure rapture. “Mmm, mmm,
“Good?”
“You know it.” He took another bite. “So let’s have it.”
“Have you talked to Lapierre today?”
“Not since this morning. What’s going on?”
“She took me off the Courtland case.”
Mitchell continued to munch, but his eyes grew sober. “What happened?”
“She thinks I’m in danger of losing my objectivity.”
“Really? That’s what she said?”
Evangeline tore a piece of French bread from her sandwich and nibbled. “Go ahead.”
“What?”
“Go ahead and say ‘I told you so.’ I know that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Okay. I told you so.” He went back to eating.
“That’s it? No lecture? No gloating?”
His tone turned reproachful. “Now, Evie, when have you ever known me to gloat?”
That was true. Mitchell wasn’t the type to revel in other people’s misery or mistakes, but still, considering their conversation the day before, Evangeline thought he was letting her off the hook a little too easily. “This is the curious part, Mitchell. In spite of what Lapierre said, I got the distinct impression that wasn’t the real reason. I think the feds are pulling some strings on this case.”
“Why? What’d she tell you?”
“It wasn’t so much what she said. More the way she let a name drop. Declan Nash. It was like she was letting me know he was behind it without letting me know. So I paid him a little visit.”
Mitchell shook his head. “Why am I not surprised? How’d you manage to track him down so fast?”
“I’ve got my ways.”
“As in…”
She grinned. “As in my neighbor’s granddaughter works at the federal building. She helped me out.”
“She did, huh?” Mitchell wiped sauce piquant from his chin with a paper napkin. “Well, were we right? Does all this have something to do with Sonny Betts?”
Too late, Evangeline realized that to recount the whole conversation with Declan Nash would be to imply the FBI didn’t regard Mitchell’s detective skills at the same level with which they viewed hers.
Not that she’d bought most of that crap anyway.
She skirted the issue as best she could while giving him the lowdown on the rest of her conversation with Nash. While she talked, Mitchell listened silently as he wolfed down his food, and when she finished, he got up without comment and went back inside to order another beer.
Evangeline ate as much as she could of her sandwich, then wrapped it back up and threw away their trash. A coffee can of begonias sat on the table, and while she waited for Mitchell, she idly plucked off the dead flowers.
It was nice outside. The street traffic was muted by the banana trees and crepe myrtles, and the scent of the plumeria blossoms made Evangeline think of an island oasis. She picked a bloom from one of the thick stalks and held it to her nose.
Mitchell sat down across from her and handed her another drink. “Here. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”
“I’ll be running to the bathroom every fifteen minutes if I drink another soda,” she complained, but she took a long, thirsty sip anyway.
“So let’s talk about this blond woman for a minute,” Mitchell said. “You think there’s anything to it?”
“Honestly? I have no idea. It’s pretty obvious the feds want to keep us away from Betts. For all I know, this
