aren't you with him?"
"Because we're not joined at the hip." She'd taken a lot
of official crap for J. D. on this case already, and she wasn't going to take
it from his big brother. "But if you've got a problem with how we handle
our cases, Chief, you can speak to Captain Pellerin." Unable to resist,
she took another drag and exhaled a little smoke in his face.
"I intend to." Cort plucked the cigarette from her hand,
dropped it, and ground it out under his shoe. "This woman, Isabel
Duchesne—what did she say?"
"She said she can't remember anything." She had an urge
to light another one, but he'd probably rip up the entire pack, and then she'd
have to punch him. "It's pretty obvious that she's trying to protect
herself, or LeClare. My guess is, she was his mistress."
"Fuck."
She arched a brow. "You kiss your mother with that
mouth?"
He looked around for a minute, as if the patience he needed were
hovering somewhere near. "I want an update on everything you've got."
"I want a Maserati, myself. Something in a nice cherry red,
with lots of gold detailing. It's the insurance that holds me back."
Feeling stupid, she pushed past him, heading for the parking lot and the
quickest means of escape.
He caught up to her. "This isn't funny, Terri."
"Hey, my boss is all over my ass like a bad tattoo, your
brother is about to trash his career, and I've got an injured witness to
interview and a case to solve. Believe me, it's not been a bag of chuckles
today." She pulled her keys from her trouser pocket and fumbled with them
until she got the driver's-side door of her car unlocked.
"I need to know what's happening."
"You can talk to the desk sergeant. I'm a little too damn
busy to hold your hand right now and tell you your little brother's going to be
all right."
When she opened the door, he put out a hand and slammed it shut.
"My brother is not getting involved in this shit with Isabel
Duchesne."
She lifted her brows. "Here's a news flash for you: I tried
to talk your brother into ditching this case. He wouldn't hear of it. J. D. wants to be up to his ears in this shit with Isabel Duchesne, and it looks like
that's where he's staying. But if you think you can pull him out, have at
it."
"I'll have the case transferred to my arson task force; it's
our jurisdiction anyway."
"You do that." The cell phone in her car rang, and she
nudged him aside to open the door and answer it. "Vincent."
She listened as the dispatcher relayed the latest news from the
hospital, and closed her eyes briefly, wishing she could slam her head into
something. Sorry, J. D., I did what I could.
"Got it. Relay this to Captain Pellerin—tell him I think we
ought to issue an APB for Duchesne. Right. Keep me posted." She ended the
call.
"Is it J. D.?"
"Sort of. A technician
was found strangled at Mercy. He was taking X rays of our witness, who was last
seen driving away from Mercy in a stolen car." She met Cort's gaze.
"Your brother went after her."
Cecilia Tibbideau heard the front door of the trailer slam, and
glanced around the tiny, spotless kitchen before she set down the basket of
laundry. "Billy?" She rubbed her palms against the front of her
apron. "That you?"
"Goddamn bitch." His footsteps made hollow, heavy thuds
on the floor as he strode into the kitchen. His thin face was flushed and shiny
with sweat, and he was carrying a half a six-pack and a bottle wrapped in a
brown bag. "Get me a glass, Cee."
She went to the cabinet and took down her husband's favorite
drinking glass, a beer stein he'd stolen from a local bar. She made sure it was
clean before she set it down on the table in front of him. "You hungry,
honey?" Sometimes he didn't get so drunk if he had something to eat first.
"I kept your plate in the oven—"
"Shut up." He opened the bottle and poured a measure of
whiskey into the stein, then thumped the bottle down on the table.
Cecilia hadn't expected him home so late—he'd said
he had a job to do that would take all morning,
"Because we're not joined at the hip." She'd taken a lot
of official crap for J. D. on this case already, and she wasn't going to take
it from his big brother. "But if you've got a problem with how we handle
our cases, Chief, you can speak to Captain Pellerin." Unable to resist,
she took another drag and exhaled a little smoke in his face.
"I intend to." Cort plucked the cigarette from her hand,
dropped it, and ground it out under his shoe. "This woman, Isabel
Duchesne—what did she say?"
"She said she can't remember anything." She had an urge
to light another one, but he'd probably rip up the entire pack, and then she'd
have to punch him. "It's pretty obvious that she's trying to protect
herself, or LeClare. My guess is, she was his mistress."
"Fuck."
She arched a brow. "You kiss your mother with that
mouth?"
He looked around for a minute, as if the patience he needed were
hovering somewhere near. "I want an update on everything you've got."
"I want a Maserati, myself. Something in a nice cherry red,
with lots of gold detailing. It's the insurance that holds me back."
Feeling stupid, she pushed past him, heading for the parking lot and the
quickest means of escape.
He caught up to her. "This isn't funny, Terri."
"Hey, my boss is all over my ass like a bad tattoo, your
brother is about to trash his career, and I've got an injured witness to
interview and a case to solve. Believe me, it's not been a bag of chuckles
today." She pulled her keys from her trouser pocket and fumbled with them
until she got the driver's-side door of her car unlocked.
"I need to know what's happening."
"You can talk to the desk sergeant. I'm a little too damn
busy to hold your hand right now and tell you your little brother's going to be
all right."
When she opened the door, he put out a hand and slammed it shut.
"My brother is not getting involved in this shit with Isabel
Duchesne."
She lifted her brows. "Here's a news flash for you: I tried
to talk your brother into ditching this case. He wouldn't hear of it. J. D. wants to be up to his ears in this shit with Isabel Duchesne, and it looks like
that's where he's staying. But if you think you can pull him out, have at
it."
"I'll have the case transferred to my arson task force; it's
our jurisdiction anyway."
"You do that." The cell phone in her car rang, and she
nudged him aside to open the door and answer it. "Vincent."
She listened as the dispatcher relayed the latest news from the
hospital, and closed her eyes briefly, wishing she could slam her head into
something. Sorry, J. D., I did what I could.
"Got it. Relay this to Captain Pellerin—tell him I think we
ought to issue an APB for Duchesne. Right. Keep me posted." She ended the
call.
"Is it J. D.?"
"Sort of. A technician
was found strangled at Mercy. He was taking X rays of our witness, who was last
seen driving away from Mercy in a stolen car." She met Cort's gaze.
"Your brother went after her."
Cecilia Tibbideau heard the front door of the trailer slam, and
glanced around the tiny, spotless kitchen before she set down the basket of
laundry. "Billy?" She rubbed her palms against the front of her
apron. "That you?"
"Goddamn bitch." His footsteps made hollow, heavy thuds
on the floor as he strode into the kitchen. His thin face was flushed and shiny
with sweat, and he was carrying a half a six-pack and a bottle wrapped in a
brown bag. "Get me a glass, Cee."
She went to the cabinet and took down her husband's favorite
drinking glass, a beer stein he'd stolen from a local bar. She made sure it was
clean before she set it down on the table in front of him. "You hungry,
honey?" Sometimes he didn't get so drunk if he had something to eat first.
"I kept your plate in the oven—"
"Shut up." He opened the bottle and poured a measure of
whiskey into the stein, then thumped the bottle down on the table.
Cecilia hadn't expected him home so late—he'd said
he had a job to do that would take all morning,
Similar Books
