Devil Dead Page 6

  Sometimes Black was like her own personal and handsome bird dog, always on point. That was, of course, when he wanted her to do something his way. Which at the moment was the case.

  “I want to offer a job to Zee and Nancy in New Orleans, if they wanna come aboard. Probably just for certain cases we work in the NOLA area. I don’t think either of them would want to leave Lafourche full-time. They’re happy working down there under Sheriff Friedewald. And Gabe will help us when he can. It’s good we have a trusted confidant at NOPD, in case we need him or want him to run prints or names through their databases. I plan to do most of the work on my own. I know what I’m doing.”

  Black sat back and listened to everything she said. Then he added, “They say private work is a lot different from carrying a legitimate badge.”

  “Yeah, it’ll be different, all right. But I know how to find this girl, and I will.”

  “That’s true. On a more practical side, we need to set up your business. You know, for taxes, payroll, facilities, all that stuff that you probably don’t want to think about.”

  “You got that right. Go ahead, take care of all that if you want. I don’t care about that kinda stuff. I’m gonna get right on the case as soon as we touch down. Good God, it’s been a week now. I can’t believe they haven’t called in the police yet.”

  “Well, they have a good reason. This case would hit the newspapers, and Andrea’s relationship to Jonas would come out and put her in even more danger. On the other hand, concerning your business, there’s no time like the present. First off, as I’m sure you know, you’ve got to have a Louisiana private investigator’s license. That might take some time.”

  “How long?”

  “Well, I looked into it a few months ago, the first time I asked you to consider this move. The waiting period is around three months.”

  Claire shot a look at him. “That long? With my experience and credentials?”

  “Afraid so. However, in the meantime, it is legal for you to find a Louisiana licensed private investigator to work with, just until you officially get your own license. That’s allowed. My lawyers and accountants can set you up with everything. Taxes, employee benefits, salaries, the works. You just need to decide your fees and how you want to be paid.”

  Claire put down the framed photo and leaned forward. “C’mon, Black. I already told you that I want to work alone, and I want to do most of it pro bono.”

  Black laughed, as if she were just such a funny little critter. “That’s a nice thought but not a particularly astute business decision.”

  “Well, I’m not a particularly astute businesswoman. I just want to find this missing girl, the sooner, the better. I don’t have time to waste on all that business crap. And I don’t want to wait any ninety days, either.”

  “No, but you’ll have to, if you want to go into this job legally. I don’t want you to have to wait, either, so the best thing to do is to find you a temporary partner. That shouldn’t be hard to do. There are lots of private investigators in south Louisiana.”

  “Great. As long as I can give the guy my stamp of approval first.”

  “Of course. Okay, that’s settled. I’ll handle everything on the business end. That’s what I do with my hotels. I want to help you get going with this and make it a lucrative endeavor.”

  “Fine. Do it however you want. Doesn’t matter to me.”

  “So do you know anybody who works private and can help you out on this first case? He or she has to have a state private license in good standing.”

  “I’ll think of somebody. And I’ll look at anybody you find. Just find them in a hurry. I prefer to work alone, but I’ll do whatever I’ve got to do to find Andrea Quinn.”

  Black stared at her for a moment. “It just occurred to me that I know somebody you might want to work with until you’re granted a license.”

  Claire narrowed her gaze. Just occurred to him? Yeah, right. “Who?”

  “I know a guy. I met him through Jack Holliday. He’s been working private around New Orleans for years. And he’s good at it, experienced. If he’s interested, I’d like for you to meet him. See if you think he’d work out.”

  Jack Holliday was a good friend of Black’s. Claire had met him on a pretty hairy case not so long ago. He was a nice guy, too, a good friend, and he was trustworthy. “Jack’s cool. He wouldn’t lead us down the wrong path. So, who is it?”

  “His name is Will Novak.”

  “Okay. Tell me more.”

  “Well, I don’t know a lot more. Actually, I don’t know him all that well, not personally anyway. I just met him a couple of times when he was with Jack, and he seemed stand-up. He played football at Tulane when Jack was quarterback out there. He and Jack are tight. So he’s going to know every inch of Tulane University. Jack told me that Novak knows New Orleans and the surrounding area like the back of his hand. As I understand it, he’s got some property down in the bayous around Lafourche or Terrebonne, somewhere like that, a big place that his family’s owned for years. He also inherited an apartment in the Quarter, from his mother’s side of the family I think. That means he’s probably got contacts everywhere, contacts that can be helpful in your cases.”

  “But you can’t really vouch for him yourself?”

  “I trust Jack’s opinion, and so should you. He says this guy is good at what he does. Actually, Novak’s done a couple of jobs with Booker, too, and Book says the same thing. Novak knows his stuff. So, how about giving him an interview when we touch down? See if you like him? Then you can get right to work.”

  John Booker was Black’s friend, too, and his personal go-to private investigator, but he lived at Lake of the Ozarks where Claire had her own house. He also had a family there, a wife and son whom he adored, and probably wouldn’t move them to Louisiana just because Claire needed a temporary partner. He was good at what he did, too, very good. And he might do jobs for them in his Missouri neck of the woods, which would suit Claire just fine. On the other hand, this Novak guy? He sounded like he just might be part of Black’s little band of ex-military buddies. Claire put down her pen and studied Black’s face for a long moment. Suspicious, oh, yeah. A wave of annoyance swept through her. “Wait just a minute, Black. What is this? You tryin’ to set me up with your own handpicked bodyguard? That it?”

  Black looked like she had caught him with his hand in the I’m-gonna-protect-you-at-all-costs cookie jar. “Well, no. You don’t need a bodyguard. What you do need is a partner who’ll have your back, just like Bud and Zee did when you worked with them. And Novak can do that, trust me. All I’m asking is for you to meet the guy and see what you think. That’s it. If you don’t like him, fine. We’ll find somebody else who is licensed and willing to work with you. Or you can find whoever you want. Just forget it, if you don’t like the sound of him. Doesn’t bother me.”

  He shrugged with a noncommittal little gesture that said loud and clear to her: Me? Interfere in your business, uh-uh, not me. Only thing, though, Claire knew good and well that he interfered in her business whenever he thought it would keep her safe, because since they’d been together, he’d seen her hurt and in the hospital way too many times to count. Claire stared at him some more, still frowning, and still pretty sure Black had handpicked this particular guy for his own reasons. But Black’s reasons were usually pretty much right on, so why not? “Okay, I’ll meet this guy, but I’m going to make the final decision. You do get that, right, Black? I decide who I work with. I’m going out on my own, but only if I’m the one in charge.”

  “Sure, I know that. I’m just trying to help you get started.”

  And he was, Claire was pretty sure. After all this time waiting for her to hang up her badge, he wasn’t about to throw a kink in the gears. “Okay, when we get home, bring him in and I’ll interview him.”

  Black looked pretty damned relieved to hear that, or maybe it was just some well-disguised smirk of triumph. “Good deal. I think you’ll want him to come aboard, but it’s
strictly up to you. No problem. I am absolutely swamped with work. That means I’m going to have to do some traveling after we get home. My Paris clinic needs me to see a difficult patient over there, and something’s come up at the hotel down in Miami, too. Wish you would come with me.”

  “You’ve spent twenty-four-seven with me for two whole months. Time alone might do you good. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and all that saccharine stuff.”

  “Don’t know about you, but I wish we were still lying on that nice warm beach, no worries, no problems, just us, making love under the stars.”

  “It was wonderful while it lasted, but it’s gonna be good to get home, too. Admit it. And they have stars in New Orleans, too.”

  He grinned. “Yes, I’ve seen them on occasion. But, to answer your question, I am looking forward to getting home, I have to say. I’ve got a lot of patients to see, though, and in a lot of different clinics. I’m going to be busy.”

  “Okay, it’s settled, you go right ahead and set up the agency however you want and get me a meeting with this guy, Novak. But I’m not making any promises.”

  “Okay, so that’s settled. Now, how can I help with the wedding?”

  “I’m on that, too. Nancy and Laurie are helping me, and we’ve got everything under control. Don’t worry your little head. It’s my surprise. And it’s all gonna get done.”

  “Good. July’s getting closer every day.”

  “I’ll find Andrea Quinn, and then we’ll get married and go wherever you want on the honeymoon and live happily ever after. So stop with the questions about the damn wedding already.”

  “Okay, then.”

  Black smiled and kissed her on the cheek, but that’s as far as they got with any kind of sweet nothings before his cell phone chirped insistently and he moved off to make some of his wise and insightful decisions about hapless basket cases, no doubt. Claire looked back down at the notes she’d taken when talking to the Quinns, all the details of their daughter’s not-very-exciting personal life, and felt a huge wave of impatience at the long flight ahead of them. She needed to get back to New Orleans and get going on the girl’s trail immediately, because she wanted to find Andrea Quinn alive and well and partying topless at some bar somewhere, not floating facedown in some filthy, stagnant swamp.

  Just over eleven hours later, they touched down at Louis Armstrong International Airport in New Orleans, Louisiana. By that time the missing girl had been gone for almost eight days. Once they lugged their bags back to Black’s elegant walled mansion on Governor Nicholls Street in the French Quarter and caught a few hours of sleep before the sun came up, Claire found that Black had been busy being his usual efficient, take-charge self. Because that’s when she found out he had called from the plane and ordered a couple of offices just off the lobby in Hotel Crescent, the boutique hotel he owned, to be reconfigured for her agency. Since the hotel backed up to the high wall that separated their own private courtyard from the hotel’s back terrace and gardens, having an office inside the hotel would be most convenient for both of them.

  Not long after they had showered and dressed for the day, Claire walked across the backyard and through a gate with a coded security lock, one that led into the hotel grounds. Soon after that, she found herself sitting in her new and highly luxurious office suite. Through the newly constructed tall French doors that led out into the cool and shady courtyard behind the hotel, Claire had a nice view of the verdant gardens with meandering bricked walks and lush plantings of crepe myrtle and magnolia trees and bougainvillea and honeysuckle and elephant ears and every other flower of every hue and description and fragrance and more tinkling fountains than the Palace of Versailles ever dreamed of. It was really quite the impressive place to spend a workday, and with a great deal of hammering and noise, the carpenters were putting the finishing touches on a small kitchenette and bathroom and another office for whomever she decided to bring into the fold. She was surprised Black hadn’t already painted Will Novak’s name on the door. That’s how gung ho he seemed on the guy.

  One hour later and speak of the devil, Black showed up in the door that led out into the plush hotel lobby and where a secretary named Bruno Cerula now screened Claire’s calls. Unfortunately, Claire was getting no calls whatsoever, and probably never would. On the other hand, Black said that Bruno would keep out anyone who appeared to be unsuitable. In other words, no serial killers were getting past the guy, who looked as if he had grappled rather successfully in big arenas with The Rock or The Undertaker, or other hefty, don’t-mess-with-me sorts of WWE pro wrestlers. But could he type? That was the question. She thought maybe nobody cared about that.

  “Hey, how’s it going? You feeling okay? No headaches, no jetlag?”

  “Black, you saw me less than an hour ago at breakfast. I am perfectly fine. Healed up and nice and healthy, for once. Not even an aspirin needed today.”

  “Good, that’s what I like to hear. Just thought I’d drop in and say hey before my teleconferences begin.”

  Black’s office was much bigger and more elaborate than hers, of course, and on the hotel’s top floor with a balcony overlooking both the street and the rear courtyard and with his patients’ private rooms located nearby. As far as Claire was concerned, it appeared that Black wanted them to be two peas in a pod, all right. However, once the cases started coming in, she didn’t expect to spend much time inside that pod with him. Togetherness was a fine thing, sure, unless she was on the clock to find some poor lost girl named Andrea.

  “How do you like your new office?”

  “It’s great. Perfect. I’m settling in. Trying to decide where to go first on the Quinn case. I’ve already checked the Internet and all her social media sites, including Facebook, and found nothing. She hasn’t posted anything anywhere for several months. So that’s a dead end. Too much time’s a wastin’, and we don’t have time to waste.”

  Black looked pleased. He should. The agency already looked all rich and successful, like millions of bucks were flooding in the door, which they were not. He opened the French doors, and a soft April breeze floated in, carrying the splash and tinkle of all those fountains and the wonderful fragrance of roses and gardenias. “I put this in so you could enter and leave without having to go through the lobby. And then it’s just a short walk across the courtyard and you’re home.”

  Safe and sound, Claire silently finished the sentiment for him. But she had to smile. Black was just beside himself with utter and supreme self-satisfaction. She was finally doing what he had wanted her to do for a very long time, but it was still a bit early to know if she was going to like it. He turned around again. Hesitated. Not like him, no. Uh-oh. Now what? “Something else on your mind, Black? I’m busy here.”

  “Actually, yes. Will Novak’s outside in the lobby. I thought you might like to meet him today before you go out to Tulane. Jack phoned and told me Will was going to be in the Quarter this morning on business, so I asked him to drop by. That okay with you?”

  Claire stared at him. Man, alive. Talk about transparent. Black must think she was an idiot. “Guess it has to be okay, huh? But hey, yeah, bring him in. I can’t go anywhere without a legit license along, so why not? But I’m not sayin’ I’m gonna like him. And I want to talk to him alone. If you don’t object?”

  “No, not at all. I’ll just send him in and make myself scarce. They’re waiting on me upstairs to put through that conference call to Paris.”

  “Okay, thanks. Send him in. I’ll see you later.”

  That Black. Who did he think he was fooling?

  Claire leaned back in her big cranberry leather chair and indeed felt like an executive with the shiny mahogany desk in front of her and the long and shiny mahogany console behind her and matching twin client chairs just across from her, just in case she ever had two clients at once. She thought not; one would be enough any day. She didn’t need all this fancy stuff, either, not by any stretch of the imagination. She would’ve decorated it differently, too.
Pretty much an old desk and a chair with a cushion and three-drawer file cabinet, but what did it hurt? Black liked to give her nice things. So she’d let him do his thing and make him happy. Just so he didn’t go overboard and put in a three-tier fountain or hang one of those weird Picassos that he liked so much.

  Within minutes, the door opened and Claire got her first gander at the famed and very special Will Novak. Okay, he wasn’t at all what she had been expecting. For sure. She stood up, gentleman to the core. “Hello, Mr. Novak. Please come in. I’m Claire Morgan.”

  Black’s new favorite guy strode across the room and took the hand she extended to him. His hand was so big that hers felt almost lost inside the long fingers and work-hardened palm. Apparently Black wanted her to work with Paul Bunyan. He looked about six-foot-six or -seven inches tall, maybe, a little taller than Black, and a lot more thick with muscles and the quiet attitude that sometimes goes along with very strong and physical men. He exuded masculine confidence. He appeared the kind of man that other guys in a bar would avoid antagonizing. He was not movie star good looking, not by a long shot, but not bad to look at, either. Rugged was the word, she guessed. But she liked rugged.

  On the other hand, he was super intimidating. That’s what she got from him most of all. He had blond hair, dark blond, cut pretty short, ex-military most likely, and probably to help control the curly texture that showed itself in his sideburns, if she had to guess. Large and very dark blue eyes looked straight into her own, as if searching for the basis of her being. The look inside those eyes seemed so deep and wise and long suffering, she felt sure he had lived and loved and fought and killed and seen death and destruction and depravity and disappointment and loss and had learned how to deal with it the hard way. She felt a shivery feeling erupt at the back of her neck, which was weird, and then she herself felt a bit of that intimidation factor that he emanated, which was a rare thing for her.