Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
I’m carrying not one but two of Lawson Montgomery’s stubborn little monsters inside me.
4
JUDGE
I pull onto the drive of Ezra’s home office and park. The main house is dark. His wife and three girls are asleep, safe and sound in their beds. It’s past midnight. Climbing out of my car, I head to the building set farther back from the drive. It’s made to look like a smaller version of the house itself.
“Judge,” he says when I enter without knocking. He’s expecting me. He stands and gestures to the chair in front of the desk. “Sit down.”
I take it, scrub a hand over my face. I’m tired. It’s been seven days since Mercedes disappeared. Well, since she took off. I’ve had additional men on Georgie and Solana. Ones they don’t know about. I’ve been to see them both, but they’re not cracking. Even though I know for a fact the masked man who carefully trashed Mercedes’s house was Georgie. And neither of them is exactly denying what they did. The glares and strange looks I’d been getting over the last few weeks, though, were nothing to the cool reception I’ve received from them since.
Neither Georgie nor Solana are criminals, though, and they’re not very good at covering their tracks. So far, they’ve only succeeded at one thing, the most important thing. Hiding Mercedes. Which is the only reason I haven’t gone completely mad this last week. At least I know she’s safe and not in the clutches of Vincent Douglas who, despite having given his word to Hildebrand, rented a car at the Reno airport and drove straight back to the city. At least I’ve been able to track him, though.
“Thank you for doing this, Ezra. I am sure you’d rather be in bed.”
“It’s no problem, Judge. This is a priority.”
“You found her?”
He nods, turns his laptop around and brings up a photo of a woman I vaguely recognize although I can’t place her right away.
“This woman is known in the Quarter as Madame Dubois.” It takes me just one more minute.
“The psychic who has a table at the apothecary?”
“One and the same.” He pushes a button, and another image comes up, this one of an elegant woman in a Chanel suit. “Madame Dubois is Claudine Dubois Bernard.” He clicks to another photo of her at an event with some sort of European royalty. “Heiress of the Bernard empire.”
“Bernard? I’m at a loss.”
“High-end leather goods, specialty merchandise. Better known in Europe than here perhaps.”
“And she works as a fortune-teller?” I’m confused.
He chuckles. “I’m guessing she’s passing the time. Probably having some fun. I hear she’s pretty good, though,” he says with a grin.
“If you believe in that sort of thing. What does she have to do with Mercedes?”
He turns the laptop around and starts typing again. “I’ve been able to pick up some conversation between Solana and Georgie about a mysterious M.”
I roll my eyes.
“Exactly. These two aren’t calculating criminals.”
“No, they’re not. And I suppose that’s a good thing for Mercedes.”
“My men noticed they both have two cell phones, but the second phones are burners. I couldn’t track much through those. However, in one conversation on the devices I was able to tap into, they discussed the Dubois woman and the fact that they had no idea who she was. That was a few days ago, and it took me a little time to put all this together. Madame Dubois has several properties in the city, but she resides in her French Quarter apartment. I’ve had men watching the other homes and…” He trails off and turns the laptop around again. “I believe this is Ms. Mercedes De La Rosa under the hat and sunglasses.”
I peer eagerly at the shots of Mercedes leaving a beautiful Greek Revival–style mansion late one afternoon in a flowing dress that reaches her ankles. A large black hat and big round sunglasses camouflage her face. Her long, dark hair is loose and blowing in the wind, and it’s when we get to the photo when that wind knocks her hat off that I’m sure. I go through the photos again. Even the huge sunglasses can't hide her beauty but accentuate it, and given her height, she looks like a fashion model who has just stepped off a runway.
“What’s the address?”
He slides a piece of paper across the desk, and I take it. It’s about an hour out of town.
“I took the liberty of having a key made.” He hands that over too. “This will let you in from the back door.”
I take it and wonder about Ezra and exactly the ties he has. “You are resourceful.”
“It’s my job,” he says. “She’s in the house. I’ve kept two men watching both front and back entrances. She won’t go anywhere without us knowing.”
“Well…” I stand and pocket the paper. “It won’t be an issue because by tomorrow morning she’ll be safely ensconced in my home again. Thank you, Ezra.”