Against All Odds: New Orleans Trilogy, #3

By Melanie Atkins

Sienna Wright has it all: an exciting career as an investigative reporter, a handsome husband who is also an assistant district attorney, and two beautiful children—until a vicious murderer takes it all away and sends her tumbling into a terrifying black abyss. Now someone is after her, and she doesn't know why. To survive, she must trust the brusque detective working her husband's case, even though she simply wants to be left alone.

Detective Nate Lincoln's job is his life, and he jumps at the chance to reclaim his gun and badge after brutality charges against him are dropped. His first order of business is to solve the heinous murder of a local ADA, yet the man's widow refuses to cooperate—until someone threatens her life. Nate isn't sure if he can help her, because her spiral into depression reminds him too much of the path his mother. Yet he has to try. Solving the case means defeating his own  demons and just might lead him to the love of his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melanie Atkins
• Release date: Oct 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393196952

Book preview

Chapter One

Don't you so much as breathe, you smart-ass punk.

Get off me, pig, or I'll tell. The shaggy-haired teenager jammed his arm against the side of the parked car. I swear to God I will.

Yeah? You gonna say I hurt you? Is that it? Detective Nate Lincoln held the boy in place with the weight of his body. Blood seeped from a cut that bisected the kid's pierced eyebrow. Stop tryin' to get away, or I'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget.

Back off, Nate. Take it easy. Jack Marston, Nate's partner, jogged up from the corner and holstered his weapon. The little snot's not going anywhere.

I don't give a fucking damn. Vibrating with fury, Nate ground the barrel of the Glock against the boy's throat and told himself not to pull the trigger. He and Jack had been chasing the scrawny punk for over forty-five minutes, on and off the interstate, through snarled rush hour traffic. The kid had finally exited onto Martin Luther King Drive and wrapped his brand new Ford pickup around a concrete light pole.

Then he'd taken off on foot. What a moron.

Nate sucked in a shaky breath. He'd been off the job for six months, not six years. When had a simple foot chase gotten so damned hard? He tightened his grip on the pistol. The humid breeze bathed his sticky face. He inhaled and drew in a heavy dose of the kid's sweaty fear-soaked stench. Nate wanted to feed on it, to make the kid hurt as much as his dead girlfriend had in the moments before she'd died.

His trigger finger twitched.

Don't shoot me, the quivering kid pleaded. I didn't mean to kill her. Honest! It... it was an accident. We was just foolin' around.

Well, Jack leaned in with a smirk. Was that a confession?

I believe so. With a vicious sneer, Nate loosened his hold on the boy but didn't move the Glock. A bus trundled by, its exhaust fumes adding to the claustrophobic feel of the city. Heat rose off the pavement in unrelenting waves. He gritted his teeth. July in New Orleans was hot enough to melt the paint off a Buick.

No more running. Jack pinned the kid in place with his harsh gaze. We're taking you in.

Y-yes, sir. Okay. I-I won't run. I swear.

Let him go, Nate. Jack nudged his elbow. Don't do something stupid your first week back.

Yeah, all right. Nate gradually relaxed and lowered the pistol. His heart still pumped a mile a minute thanks to the adrenaline rush, but he no longer wanted to blast the kid straight to hell. The little prick had thrown Avery Williams into a cinder block wall, bruising her skull and breaking her neck. She'd died the next day.

Tears rolled down the nineteen-year-old's unshaven face. I-I didn't mean to hurt her. I promise.

Course you didn't. Nate grabbed the boy's arm, shoved him face first against the car, and cuffed his hands behind his back.

The kid glanced back over shoulder. I want a lawyer.

Yeah? Jack scowled at him. Then you'd better shut up.

I will.

Too late. Nate jerked the boy toward their ratty department-issued sedan, parked four blocks over where the teen had wrecked his truck. A trickle of sweat rolled into Nate's ear. With a vicious curse, he dipped his finger inside to wipe it away. The long trek in the sultry late afternoon heat, on top of the footrace to catch the little punk, made his shirt stick to his back. Damn. I hate summertime.

You picked a helluva time to be reinstated. Jack chuckled.

Nate huffed. "Don't I know it. How's Mikki?'

Better every day. His partner grinned. 'Cept she's pissed we can't be partners and shack up, too.

That doesn't surprise me. Nate smirked. Jack and Mikki had been partners until they'd fallen in love on the job. Then Mikki had gotten kidnapped during a case involving higher-ups in the department, including their former captain, Major John Sabbatini, and had nearly died from a forced drug overdose. Jack was lucky he still had her in his life. When's the wedding?

Might not be one. She said yes, but now she's mad at me—so she took it back.

Seriously? Nate laughed and shook his head. You two fight more than any two people I know.

What can I say? Jack shrugged. It's part of the charm.

Nate clammed up and led the kid around the corner, where their duty car and two cruisers sat in the street blocking traffic. One uniformed officer was busy writing up an accident report, while another stood beside the mangled truck surveying the jumble of beer cans and cigarette butts that had spilled from vehicle's open door.

Jack lifted a brow. Beer cans. Interesting.

Last I heard, the drinking age in Louisiana was twenty-one. Nate squeezed the kid's bicep. Ain't that right, Zack?

The boy slammed his mouth shut and aimed his perturbed gaze down the street.

Annoyance fired through Nate, but he suppressed it. Jack was right. He was getting a second chance, and he didn't need to blow it this soon out of the gate. He shoved the boy into the back of one of the patrol cars and ordered a uniformed officer to take him to lockup. This case was a slam-dunk.

His cell phone rang. He pulled it out. Lincoln.

Nate, it's Al LeBlanc.

Yeah, Major. Nate trailed Jack back to their sedan. Their new boss had only been on the job for a couple of months and Nate had worked with him for less than a week, but already he respected the guy. LeBlanc was a solid cop, with serious smarts. We caught Sanders after he had a little accident. Totaled his pickup on Orleans where it passes under I-10. He's okay, but he made one helluva mess.

He hurt anybody?

Nope, but he would have if today wasn't Sunday.

"Lucky for him and us. LeBlanc's bitter tone bit into Nate's ear. We don't need any more goddamned bad publicity for this department. We've had enough after the fiasco with Sabbatini and the others—especially now, with the Wright case being dragged up again. All hell is about to break loose. Remember that one?"

Wright. Yeah, of course. A spear of pain stabbed Nate, and he paused with his hand on the car door. He'd been head over heels in love with Sienna Barnes back in the day, before she'd chosen Assistant District Attorney Jeff Wright over him, married the jerk, and become the mother of his two kids. Wright's first wife had died in a car accident less than two years earlier, and he'd floundered as a single parent until Sienna had rescued him.

Less than a year later, Jeff and the kids had been murdered in brutal fashion. Nate winced as the horrific crime scene images flickered through his mind. Blood had soaked the sofa cushions, the carpet, and the clothing of all three victims. Sienna had found them, and EMS had been forced to sedate her after they arrived.

Leblanc cleared his throat. Nate... hey, you okay?

Yeah. Sorry. He shook off the pall of despair that had descended over him. I-I remember the case. Somebody shot ADA Wright and his two kids while his wife was out getting ice cream. All were shot execution style.

That's the one. You know the widow?

I knew her very well, at one time. What's going on? Solomon closed it while I was off the job, right? Nate climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door as Jack started the engine.

Nate's partner paused to turn on the A/C before pulling away from the curb. The cool air blasting through the vents did little to eliminate the sweltering heat. Perspiration gathered on Nate's forehead and neck. He swiped at it.

LeBlanc sighed. Actually, no. He dropped the ball. The case is still open—and cold as ice. Now it's fallen into my lap thanks to a call to the DA from Jeff's widow, who has apparently just snapped out of her cloud of grief and is mad as hell. So... I need your help.

You've gotta be kidding. Angry that Solomon had let the case fall through the cracks, Nate stared at the street ahead. He did not need any more complications in his life. He and Sienna had a history, yeah. But he'd done his damnedest to forget it and move on with his life. Seeing her again would not be good. He scowled. Solomon took over most of my cases when they shelved me. He called me 'bout a few, but never that one. I figured he'd closed it.

Nope. He just sat on it.

Fuck. Nate mopped more sweat from his brow and adjusted the vent in front of him so that it blew directly into his face. He did not want to see Sienna under any circumstances, but hell – now he had no choice but to do so. He made a fist. Okay, Major. We're on our way back to the station. I'll fill Jack in.

You do that. LeBlanc gave Nate a few more particulars about the case in general, and Sienna Wright in particular. Then he blew out a breath and changed gears Oh, and tell Marston Mikki called. Said he's not answering his cell and threatened to do bodily harm if he doesn't answer next time

Great. I'll tell him. All humor escaping him, Nate pinched the bridge of his nose. Talk to you later, sir.

Jack raised his eyebrows. What is it?

Mikki says you're not answering her calls.

Damn. Jack pulled out his phone and glowered down at the display. Forgot to charge it. Again.

You'd better plug it in and call her. She's not a happy camper.

Okay. He shot Nate a wary glance. What else did the major say? We caught a case?

Yeah, a cold one. The murdered ADA—Jeff Wright. Remember him? Nate settled back in his seat and filled Jack in on the blood-soaked crime scene at the Wright's upscale home as his partner negotiated the light Sunday traffic. Our unit apparently hit a brick wall while I was gone, so Solomon tabled it – and that's turned out to be a colossal mistake, 'cause Wright's wife has been calling at least twice a week for the past month to raise hell about it.

Wait a minute. Jack gaped at him. I know Sienna. Didn't you two used to date back in the day?

Yeah, I was seeing her when she met Jeff. Nate gritted his teeth at the painful memory. He didn't like to think about that depressing time in his life. He used to drink and party way too much. She dated both of us for a while before she chose him. Said she wanted someone who was more steady. Claimed I was a bad influence.

Whoa. Jack lifted his eyebrows. That was cruel, man.

What can I say? She was right. And it was for the best, 'cause she loved Jeff. Nate shook his head. He made her happy with those two kids—a ready-made family—and that big, fancy house. She had a comfortable life. Better than I could've given her. I didn't have a pot to piss in back then, much less any kids.

Still, that must have gutted you.

"Yeah, but not as much as losing Jeff and those kids did her. I heard she had a breakdown after the funeral and moved to Birmingham to live with her aunt. But now she's threatened to sue the city because we never closed the case, so the Major Crimes Section Commander is all spun up about it. He wants us to solve it yesterday."

Then you'd better talk to Solomon.

Believe me, I plan to... if I can find him.

Give him my regards, Jack said with a wry smile as he swung the sedan into the parking garage adjacent to the station.

Nate growled an oath in response but didn't voice his true feelings about the case or Sienna. She'd broken his heart, but he didn't want Jack to know. All he needed was the facts. Sienna, a beautiful, headstrong woman, had been a popular reporter for the Times Picayune, yet she'd crumbled the night Jeff and kids had died. Her doctor had hospitalized her after the funeral and kept her there until he'd found a family member willing to take care of her. A few days later, Sienna had left Louisiana for Birmingham. Nate had no idea how she was doing now but figured he should pay her a visit, even though it was the last damned thing he wanted to do.

Save me from old girlfriends, he muttered as he climbed out of the car. He hated confrontations with women, thanks to his dealings with his own mother and the crappy way his relationship with Sienna had ended. Showing up drunk at her wedding had been the icing on the cake. The pain of that day still gnawed at his soul.

Jack rounded the hood and clapped him on the back. Talk to LeBlanc again. He may be new, but he still may be able to unearth a new lead or two for you. Something to help you break the ice.

I doubt it. Nate entered the squad room, lowered himself wearily into his chair, and tried to call Solomon.

No luck. The detective was out sick and didn't answer either of his personal phones, landline or cell.

With a bitter curse, Nate finally gave up and studied the notes on the case he'd made before his suspension. He found the names and ages of the three victims, Jeff, Josh, and Mindy Wright, plus some vague information he'd gotten out of Sienna and a few crude sketches of their living room, where she'd found all three victims.

The grisly crime scene photos turned Nate's stomach. He put them aside and examined a page of notes he'd jotted about the house. No sign of forced entry, no fingerprints by anyone other than family, no bloody footprints. Just two spent .38 caliber slugs dug out of the couch and a third embedded in the side of Jeff's desk

He flipped the page. Nothing else was in the file.

Shit.

I know good and damned well I filed those autopsy reports. He drew his brows together and rooted back through the file, digging through the notes, pictures, and sketches again. Some of his comments about Sienna made his heart clench. He found images of the holes where they'd discovered the slugs and pictures of the three bullet casings on the floor, but no report from the Medical Examiner's Office. Anger burned through Nate. He slapped the file shut. Goddamn it.

What's wrong? Jack dropped his desk phone back into its cradle and cocked his head.

Nate tapped the manila folder. The autopsy reports are gone. I filed all three the day before my hearing. Stupid Solomon. He's not at work today, and he's not answering his phones.

Probably left town after learning that LeBlanc dumped the case on us. He knew we'd have questions.

He's a jackass. Nate snatched up the phone and dialed Sonny Parker, the ME who had performed the autopsies. "I'll get Sonny to fax me more copies. Then I'll call Sienna and arrange to meet her—if she's in town. If not, I'll ask for permission to head to Birmingham."

Hate to tell you, but you're on your own, Jack said with a twist of his lips. I have court. Sorry.

No problem. Nate squared his shoulders. I can handle it.

Sure you can.

Buoyed by his partner's faith, Nate picked up the phone and dialed the ME. He answered on the second ring.

Nate greeted Sonny, then gave him the lowdown on the missing autopsy reports. I have no idea what happened to 'em.

Hang on while I look 'em up, the ME said. Wright, you said? Jeff W-r-i-g-h-t?

Yeah. Jeff, Josh, and Mindy. They were murdered about a year ago, on October fifth.

Found 'em. He paused. Wait a second—this can't be right.

What is it? A sick feeling crept into the pit of Nate's stomach.

A rapid series of clicks from Sonny's computer keyboard carried over the phone. He remained silent for another few tense moments and then murmured a string of curses. I'm not believing this. He spat another oath. They're gone. All three of them.

"What do you mean, gone?"

The names are here, so I have the files, but the rest of the info has been deleted.

How could that have happened?

I don't know, but I promise you I'll get to the bottom of it.

That won't help me work this case. I need the information. Don't you keep hard copies?

Yeah, of course, the ME assured him. And we should also have 'em backed up digitally. I'll check both places.

Make it fast, will you? Nate drummed his fingers on the desk. I need to give Jeff's widow an update right away.

I'll get back to you as soon as I can, Sonny said, exasperation evident in his voice. This has me floored.

Nate thanked him, hung up, and turned to Jack. The autopsy information is missing from Sonny's computer, too. If he doesn't find the hard copies or digital backups, I don't know what I'll do.

You'll have to get a court order to exhume the bodies. His partner frowned. But that’s bound to come with a shit load of red tape, because they were buried in Mississippi.

In Mississippi? Why? Nate asked in surprise, a headache building behind his eyes. Sienna would go ballistic if he asked for permission to drive to another state to dig up her husband and step-kids—unless he skipped that step and asked for a court order instead, a prospect that would probably anger her even more. He rubbed his throbbing forehead. Damn. Today is going from bad to worse. What's gonna happen next?

Well... Jack propped an elbow on his desk and let the word trail away. Maybe if—

Never mind. Nate waved his hand in surrender. Don't answer that. I don't want to know.

Chapter Two

"I can't find any copies of the autopsy reports in either digital or hard copy, Sonny told Nate later that day. Sorry, Detective. I don't know what happened."

Goddamn it. Nate clenched his jaw. I need that information.

The only way to reconstruct it is to exhume the bodies and redo the autopsies. I'll need permission from the family, of course. Either that, or a court order.

They were buried in Biloxi. Nate had checked into it after Jack had told him they'd been taken to Mississippi, and then looked up the cemetery's address. Is that a problem?

Well, we'll have to petition the Harrison County circuit court and show probable cause—not a problem per se, but it might take some time.

Time is something I don't have.

Tell you what, Sonny said. I know the county coroner over there. Tim Graves and I went to high school together back in the day, and his son is a circuit court judge. I'll get the paperwork rolling, then give Tim a call and find out how to contact his boy so maybe he can expedite things.

"Graves?" Nate couldn't stop the chuckle that left his mouth.

Sonny sighed. Not funny. Now... do you want my help or not?

Of course I do. The detective sobered. Sorry.

Okay. I have all the info I need, thanks to this bare bones computer file. I'll get on it while you contact the family. Exhumations are a lot of work. We usually have to get the soil tested, but since only a year has passed since internment, we might be able to get by without going through that process. I know a geologist who can help me with that. I've used him before, and he doesn't work cheap. You sure Orleans Parish will pay for the tests if we have to do 'em?

I'll check with the DA, but with all the flack Sienna is giving us, I'm pretty sure he'll agree to most anything to get the case solved. So, do whatever you have to do. Although I'd rather drive a skewer through my eye than ask Sienna for permission to dig up her family.

You have to talk to her, Sonny reminded him. And who knows? She might just give you the go ahead. That would sure as hell save us a lot of time.

I know. Thanks. I'll get right on it. With a heartfelt sigh, Nate hung up and dug out the piece of paper where LeBlanc had jotted down Sienna's cell number.

Nate's heart thumped as he picked up the receiver and dialed. He wanted her to answer, and yet he didn't. He hadn't spoken to her since he'd taken her statement the night her family had been murdered—and before that, at her wedding reception, when he'd shown up drunk and wrecked things.

Christ. He cringed. How would she react to him now?

He shouldn't have worried. The phone just rang and rang, without voicemail picking up. The temporary respite, although he'd longed for it, skated over his nerves. He rose and headed for Major LeBlanc's open door.

Got a minute, Sir? Nate halted on the threshold.

LeBlanc glanced up and put down his pen. Sure, Nate. I need to talk to you about the Wright case, anyway.

You've been on the phone for a while.

Yeah. The Major grimaced. With the chief.

Didn't hear you raise your voice.

Samuels doesn't operate that way. The major rocked back in his chair and shot Nate a wry look. He has a way of using words to slice up his subordinates. He might be a jackass, but he knows what he's doing. The department hasn't run this smoothly in years.

Thanks to Jack and Mikki. Nate smirked, remembering how the two of them had brought down the ring of dirty cops making big bucks smuggling cocaine and other drugs into the city. Samuels took the credit, but they did the work. Mikki almost died.

I'm aware of that, Nate. LeBlanc waved him toward the pair of vinyl chairs facing his desk. Have a seat. We have work to do.

About that, sir... Nate dropped into a chair and hiked his right ankle onto his left knee. I called Sienna, but she didn't answer.

I'm sure she'll return your call soon.

You said she's been calling the DA directly and leaving us out of the loop. He met his superior's level gaze. That won't help. We're the ones who have to fix this. I need to talk to her ASAP.

I agree. You might want to give Jeff's mother a call. Her number should be in the file. I heard she's had a stroke but is improving. I'm sure she knows how to get in touch with her former daughter-in-law.

Thanks. I'll do that.

I don't know about Sienna's mental state, so you might ask her mother-in-law about that, too. The major frowned. Once you reach Sienna, tread with caution. She lost her whole family that night.

I know, sir. I'll be patient.

Might be a stretch for you. LeBlanc quirked his lips.

Nate sat back. No, sir. I'm doing okay. The stress is gone.

Uh-huh. Well, a trip to Birmingham isn't cheap with the price of gas going up again. You might want to call Sienna's aunt first to ask about Sienna's mental state, even if her mother-in-law claims she's doing okay. People grieve in different ways.

That's true, but the news I have to give her might send her spiraling back down the rabbit hole, no matter where she is now Nate fixed his boss with a hard stare and told him about the missing autopsy reports. Sonny didn't find any backup files either, so we'll have to exhume the bodies. And to make matters worse, Wright and the kids were buried in Mississippi, so we'll also have to deal with that red tape. We have no choice, really, because without the autopsy reports, the entire case is dead in the water.

Son of a bitch.

You can say that again. Nate rubbed his temple. I'm hoping Sienna will give us her okay, but if not we can get a court order.

You bet we can. I'll be happy to call the DA and get things going on this end. He and Jeff were friends. LeBlanc picked up his pen. We have to pull out all the stops, even if we do have to give the family top consideration. Wright was one of ours.

Yes, sir.

Here's Sienna's aunt's number. Her name is Ellen Forrester, and she lives just out of Birmingham. LeBlanc handed Nate a piece of paper. Call her if you can't get anything out of Sienna's mother-in-law or if what she says seems too good to be true.

Will do, sir. Nate got up and strode back to his desk. A trip to Alabama would screw up his schedule. He had eleven open cases. He made a fist and muttered, Gotta do this anyway.

What was that, Nate? Detective Sam Walker put down his phone. Back two weeks, and you're already bitchin' about a case?

You would be, too, if you'd caught this one.

Maybe, but you need to chill. Sam got up.

Nate shot him a look. Lay off, man. Not everybody has a hot new wife waitin' at home to help 'em blow off steam.

A woman is exactly what you need. Sam eyed Nate. Might calm you down, help take the edge off.

Didn't help you.

Kiss my ass.

No, thanks. Nate smirked. I'll leave that to Dani.

Sam gave him the finger and headed for the coffee pot.

Nate laughed. Around him, the squad room buzzed with energy. Two detectives yammered on the phone, another hunched over his computer typing a report, and a fourth stepped up to LeBlanc's door to shoot the breeze. Nate flexed his shoulders. Being back at work felt good, even if he did have to make a side trip to Birmingham.

Nate called Sienna's mother-in-law, but the woman's nurse told him that Cecile Wright had recently suffered another stroke.

Cecile is unable to speak at all now, Detective, the woman said in a clipped English accent. The damage to her left side is extensive.

I'm sorry, he murmured, as anger built inside his chest. Why did she have to be out of commission now, when he needed her help? He barely resisted the urge to slam down the phone when he hung up.

To halt his rising temper, he snatched up the piece of paper containing Ellen Forrester's phone number. Maybe he should try calling Sienna one more time before bothering her aunt. If luck was on his side, she'd answer.

Pick up, damn it, he growled as the phone rang. Impatience chewed at his nerves, despite what he'd told LeBlanc about his stress level going down. Give me voicemail, at least.

No. Nothing.

When Sienna didn't answer and voicemail failed to pick up, he slammed down the receiver. He'd have to call the Forrester woman.

Sam glanced over at him. Problem?

Yeah. I can't even get to square one.

Take it easy. You're just gettin' started.

I know. Nate ground his teeth and stared down at the number on the piece of paper in his hand. I just—

He broke off and made the call.

Homewood B&B, the woman answered in a melodic tone. We're not open right now, but we hope to be in the near future.

Yes, ma'am, Nate said, surprise filtering through him. I'm, um... looking for Ellen Forrester.

This is she. The woman's tone shifted. What can I do for you?

Nate identified himself, then said, I'm actually looking for Sienna Wright. I was told she might be staying with you in Birmingham.

Oh. Why, yes, Ellen said with a note of caution. She lives in my guesthouse. I'll give you the number, but I doubt she'll pick up. She's pretty much sealed herself off from the world, except for occasionally going in to work and visiting her therapist. Won't even answer her cell phone most of the time.

Yeah, I know. I've tried to reach her. Where does she work?

"At the Birmingham News. Doesn't spend much time there, though. She usually holes up in the guesthouse and works via the Internet."

I see. He let the information sink in. Well, I need to speak with her concerning her husband's case here in New Orleans. She's already called the DA—

Many times. She told me. The woman's tone turned cynical. "She doesn't believe you people really want to solve Jeff's murder. She lost two precious step-children that night as well, Detective. She might not have carried them in her womb, but she loved them as if she did... and she's been existing a fog ever since they passed. She's fighting to learn to live again, so imagine her dismay when she learned the case has fallen through the cracks."

Sorry, ma'am. Nate's hackles rose when he recalled Solomon's sloppiness. I'm reopening the case and need to talk with Sienna Maybe you can let her know I've been trying to reach her.

If you're serious about this, young man, you should come visit her in person. You'll make a much better impression.

You're right. Maybe he should make the drive after all. Except he dreaded it now more than he had earlier. Okay. I'll drive over. Will she be available tomorrow afternoon?

I'll make sure that she is.

Fine. I should get there around noon or a little after.

That should be fine. Ms. Forrester took a breath. You know, when the other detective called, Sienna became very upset. That's when she called the one in New Orleans.

What other detective? An icy tingle slid over Nate's skin. Solomon hadn't worked the case in months. What the hell? He scowled down at the file on his desk. When was that?

About a month ago, I think, then again last week. The first time, she cried. The second time, she refused to speak with him and tumbled into a fit of depression. Her tears broke my heart.

Did you get the detective's name?

Why, yes. Of course. It was Drake. She hummed low in her throat His first name was Armand, I believe. Such a strange name, but easy to remember.

Did he tell you where he worked? Which department? Nate didn't know anybody at NOPD named Armand Drake. He opened the case file and jotted down the name.

Ms. Forrester paused. No. I should've asked, I suppose, but I was quite taken aback when he called. No one had talked to Sienna about the case in ages. I'm sorry, Detective.

It's okay. Nate made another note. What'd he want?

I'm not sure. But he seemed pleased that he had upset her and only called back one more time. After that, she phoned your DA.

Thank you, ma'am. Can you give me Drake's number?

Oh. Her frown was audible. Oh, yes! I can look it up.

That would help.

Of course, Detective. But I'll have to call you back. I don't know how to look at numbers while I'm talking.

All right. Nate pinched the bridge of his nose. Once you write it down, hit redial and ask for Detective Nate Lincoln. If I don't hear from you in a few minutes, I'll call you back.

Okay, she promised. The line went dead.

Man, this is weird. Nate lowered the receiver.

Jack, who'd just walked back into the squad room