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  “Ms. Carson, I believe my child is in grave danger,” he quietly said. His eyes held a faraway look. “I’m very concerned.”

  Shel knew it was a waste of time to even get the details from him. She wasn’t a victim retrieval specialist and she didn’t take kid cases, period. In her view, kids were the only people not yet ruined by humans. Far be it from her to butt into somebody’s innocence, possibly expediting what they would surely learn in due time—that the world could be an awful place. She hadn’t liked kid cases when she was a cop, and as a freelancer, it was her right to reject them.

  Despite her resolution, she found herself asking, “Why the concern?”

  “My wife has some genuine problems. She has a violent streak.” He looked at her. “Very violent.”

  “Still, it’s a custody case.” She felt uncomfortable at the prospect of being forced to comfort the increasingly emotional man. Compassion wasn’t in her lineup. She impatiently asked, “When did they go?”

  “Last month, during White Linen Night, of all the damned times.”

  Shel shook her head. “I’m not familiar.”

  “First Saturday night in August, thousands who fancy themselves art connoisseurs crowd into the Warehouse District to drink wine and talk culture. It’s a very big night for us.” He glanced away. “I couldn’t get immediate help. The crowds were large and the police force was stretched very thin.”

  She boldly glanced around the opulent room and didn’t bother hiding her disbelief. “Rich guy like you couldn’t command some special treatment?”

  “In fairness, it took me a while to realize they’d gone.” He tipped his head to one side in a way that reminded her of a puppy. “You have children, Ms. Carson?”

  “No.”

  “Very p-precious—” he sputtered, seemingly trying to keep his emotions in check. When he spoke again, his voice rasped. “I assure you my wife is quite insane. Days before she left, she killed the family dog right in front of my daughter. Throttled the poor animal with her bare hands.” He clenched his fists together in a demonstration and shuddered, his expression filled with horror. “She’s been very, very unstable since Harper’s birth.”

  “Postpartum depression?”

  “I don’t know, but she surely did change. She’d get mean with my daughter and me. I desperately tried to get her some help to no avail. Unfortunately, I’ve gotten to know that side of her very well. At this point, my only concern is for my child.”

  His face turned a disconcerting shade of white. Although his lips moved, no words came. He shielded his eyes with his hand for several seconds, further unnerving Shel. She hoped he wasn’t working himself into a stroke. After a bit, he moved his hand to reveal red-rimmed eyes and muttered an apology.

  “How about we get some air, Mr. Fortier?” Shel motioned toward a bank of windows that ran the width of the room. The only brightness potential the room possessed was heavily curtained with yet more burgundy, but there were French doors at one end, and surely what was left of the daylight just beyond.

  He nodded, stood, and made a wobbling path toward the doors.

  She reached for the handle, but he quickly stopped her. For the first time, she noticed a thin ray of blue laser security light spanning the door’s width.

  Fortier pressed an intercom button and informed the butler they would take their talk to the patio. He laid his thumb against a screen on a security box and held it there until the blue beam flickered and vanished. Only then did he open the door and wave for her to exit before him.

  She and Fortier stepped onto a terrace overlooking the roof of a carriage house swarming with cat’s claw vines. Further below, she saw a compact lawn with borders bursting with sweet-smelling blooms. She inhaled deeply. “Plumeria?”

  “And foxglove,” he numbly answered. “Smells heavenly, but it is incredibly poisonous.”

  “Story of my life,” she muttered, shooting him a look.

  He returned a glance indicating that might be the only thing they had in common. Bypassing the settee, he leaned against the lacy iron railing to gaze over the courtyard paradise.

  She joined him and tried to keep him talking. Talking involved breathing, and he didn’t look terrific. “You’ve got a pretty high-tech setup here, Mr. Fortier. Must be all that art in there, huh?”

  The color slowly returned to his cheeks. He nodded. “You can’t be too careful.”

  “Right,” she said, wondering if that was the case, how he’d managed to lose his only child.

  Fortier’s gaze settled on his colossal estate. He launched into a quiet narration. “I had all the bells and whistles installed as soon as we moved in last year. Priceless art aside, the house has a rather colorful history. Lots of curious folks come around to snap photographs.”

  “I noticed.”

  “They say damn near everything in New Orleans is haunted.” He chuckled without smiling. “A few odd noises now and again don’t mean it’s necessarily so. But Kathleen—my wife—isn’t as fond of the place as I am.”

  Triggered by dusk, gas lamps began to ignite around them with a soft whirring sound. Their light reflected off the water beneath the terrace. The setting was serene, lovely. “Sweet yard, too,” Shel said. “Great pool.”

  “Never been touched. My wife abhors water.”

  “Why is that?”

  “She lost her parents to Hurricane Katrina. Perhaps that’s a part of her problem.”

  Shel turned to face him, letting her amusement show. No matter his state of suffering, she couldn’t resist making her point. “Your emotionally unstable wife lost her parents in the flood, so you moved her into a haunted house with an enormous pool?”

  He blinked several times. “I can’t be sure if you’re on my side or not.”

  She studied him a moment longer. “I can’t be sure, either.”

  Before she and Fortier could pursue—or ignore—the matter, a faint buzz sounded behind them. She turned to see the butler ushering a guest onto the balcony. Fortier appeared relieved at the interruption. He all but ran to greet his guest, a man in a suit and tie, probably a lawyer. Shel hated lawyers.

  “Peter Dubois.” Looking every bit as aristocratic as her host, the gentleman extended his hand in greeting.

  Shel ignored him and instead glared at Fortier.

  “I asked Peter to join us,” Fortier explained. “He’s an old family friend.”

  “And your lawyer,” she finished for him.

  “Naturally I play my personal affairs close to the vest.”

  “Naturally.” Her cynicism reemerged loud and clear.

  Fortier waved toward the table. “Shall we sit down? Please?”

  The butler disappeared and returned in moments with a bottle of scotch, glasses, and a pitcher of water, which he dutifully placed on the table before departing again.

  Dubois looked familiar, leading Shel to wonder if she’d seen him in the press. Given his expensive attire and abundant confidence, she could easily imagine him behind a podium, taking kudos for whatever case he’d won on behalf of a string of high-end crooks. The expression in his eyes supported her feeling, as they held the gleam of a man who didn’t operate on the up and up. It was a look she’d seen countless times in her past.

  He wasted no time in getting down to business. “I trust Richard has brought you up to speed regarding his situation,” he said to her.

  “We were getting there,” she said. She selected a glass and poured herself some water. Fortier started to top off her glass with scotch, but she quickly stopped him. “I like to keep a clear head, especially when there’s a lawyer within slapping distance.”

  Dubois ignored her barb. “Have you discussed financials?”

  Fortier meekly smiled. “We were getting there, too.”

  Dubois turned his attention to Shel. His voice dropped to a confidential level, as if anyone could hear them above the whirring gas lanterns, or the distant revelers and the ambient sounds of the Quarter. “This is a grave sit
uation, Ms. Carson. We’d be much obliged if you’d take the case and help Richard and his daughter get on with their lives.”

  “I’m confused,” Shel said, setting her glass on the wrought-iron table. She leaned on her forearms, deliberately capturing both men’s attention. “Did you report the kidnapping to the police? Publicize the fact that your daughter had gone missing on TV or in the newspaper? Was there an Amber Alert—anything? C’mon, gentlemen.”

  Fortier and Dubois looked at each in silent conference. At last, the lawyer spoke. “Ms. Carson, it is necessary to keep this out of the news as much as possible. My client—my friend—maintains a high degree of confidentiality for the protection of his family and his assets. Our fear was that if someone were to discover Richard’s wife and child were missing, his child could be in even greater danger.”

  Shel was forming some ideas, but asked anyway, “How do you figure?”

  “Let’s say if an unscrupulous individual found them first and held them for ransom.”

  Her gaze flicked between the pair. “Do you know a lot of unscrupulous folks, Mr. Fortier?”

  “Sadly, Ms. Carson, the art world is full of them,” Fortier answered. “For everyone’s safety, I try my best to keep a low profile.”

  “If you’ll pardon my saying, Mr. Fortier…” Shel paused, wrestling with her patience. She addressed them in the same low, hushed tones they’d used with her. “You don’t move your family into a forty-four room mansion that’s a primary stop on a ghost tour in the French Quarter if you’re trying to keep a low profile.”

  Dubois looked prepared to defend his client, but Shel only gave him a tight grin and whispered, “No response necessary. The brochure about this place came with my hotel room along with a two-for-one coupon. I spotted a group on my way in, cameras high, snapping to beat hell.” She straightened her posture, enjoying the growing confidence that she held the better hand in their game. “If I had the beaucoup bucks you clearly do, I’d have had my kid’s face on every news channel, every hour. Please, Mr. Fortier, don’t fucking waste my time. Now gentlemen, why am I really here?” She leaned back in her seat, giving the pair a chance to stew in their juices.

  Fortier broke the silence. He touched Dubois’s sleeve. Finally, Dubois nodded, and Fortier began to unwind his tale. “Not long ago, my wife involved herself in some unsavory business behind my back.” He leaned forward and gave Shel his undivided attention. “I quashed whatever bad publicity money could manage, kept the press away from it. Still, tongues will wag. By now, there are many who know of her misdeeds and would have little sympathy for us.”

  “What did she do?”

  “Check forgery, embezzlement…” His voice trailed off and he rubbed his forehead. “Those things I could recompense. What I could not indemnify was her adulterous, blackmailing lifestyle. Many men—and their wives—wouldn’t lose sleep should she meet her demise. I notify the police or the FBI and it’s public record. Frankly, someone of my social and professional standing doesn’t announce his wife missing without the press having a field day. No detail would be publicly spared.”

  “Meaning your dirty laundry would be all over the news for the world to know.” Shel nodded, leaping to her assumed conclusion. “How bad for business. That’s father of the year material right there.”

  He forged ahead despite his obviously escalating annoyance at her cynicism. “Ms. Carson, declaring them missing could possibly endanger my wife and child. As I mentioned, Kathleen doesn’t exactly have a fan club. It’s entirely plausible that someone would choose to find her first and take justice into their own hands.” He paused, once again scrubbing at the lines that formed on his forehead. After a lengthy sigh, he added, “At very least, such publicity might force my wife further into hiding.”

  “Makes a girl wonder why your wife would want away from you so badly.” She leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving Fortier. “Or perhaps these supposed bad guys want to get back at you and not her.”

  “I can assure you that’s not the case.”

  “Can you assure me?” She remained locked in his gaze. He didn’t flinch. After a moment, she softened her tone. “Look, I’m trying to put myself in your place, Mr. Fortier. But if it were me, I’d do anything—bar none—to get my kid back.”

  “I am doing everything. That’s why you’re here.” His eyes clouded once again and his voice broke when he added, “Make no mistake about it. I want my daughter back. Harper’s all I’ve got. She’s…everything to me.”

  Dubois seized his cue in the tag-team negotiation. He produced a manila envelope from his briefcase and pushed it across the table toward her.

  She unwound the clasp and dumped the envelope’s contents on the table, her eyes going immediately to a black AmEx card emblazoned with her own name. Having been on a government payroll most of her life, she’d never imagined such a thing, not even for her private amusement. Next to the card was a cell phone, and next to that, a legal-sized envelope open just enough for her to see it was bulging with cash.

  She didn’t let herself get used to that sight either and aimed her gaze at Fortier. “Given the parameters I’ve already defined for you, what is it you expect me to do?”

  “Find them,” he firmly answered. “No interaction required. None of that retrieval business you spoke of earlier. Simply find them and contact me with their whereabouts. Period.”

  “Based on your story alone? Really?” She slumped in her chair and folded her arms across her chest, looking from one man to the other.

  “It’s all here.” Dubois produced a second envelope that he slid toward her. His expression was now fixed and cold, leading Shel to consider that he might be one of the men Fortier mentioned when speaking of his wife’s illicit affairs. His tone said he had more at stake than simple representation of his client. “This is the legal paperwork that proclaims Richard to be the sole custodian of Harper, no ifs, ands, or buts.”

  Shel leafed through the papers.

  “Are you officially divorced?”

  “No,” Fortier softly answered. His shoulders fell as though he’d been dreading the question. “Given her state of mind, I took every precaution for the sake of my child. I asked for, and easily received, guardianship due to the unusual circumstances.”

  “Unusual circumstances?” Shel raised her eyes over the top of the paper, studied him for a moment. He only nodded toward the papers, as if she held in her hands the answer to her every question. The papers appeared legal, signed by a judge, and stamped with the official Orleans Parish logo. She flipped through the other documents as well, pausing to more closely examine a particular unfamiliar one. She held it out for him to see. “What’s this?”

  “The circumstances I spoke of. Committal paperwork.” Fortier quietly disclosed this in a manner that said it would one day be a dirty family secret. “When I do find her, I’ll get Kathleen the help she badly needs. Everything is in order.” He stopped and thumbed his chin, his eyes glazing over for the hundredth time. “It’s the right thing to do. I am Kathleen’s only living relative, and she is the mother of my child.”

  “How noble of you. I think I’m going to pass.” Shel shoved the paperwork at them. Despite the case’s lucrative potential, something didn’t feel right. “All this trouble for the committal and custody assignment says this is already a matter of public record. Might as well take the extra step and contact the Feds. I’m out of here.”

  Once again, Fortier started to reach out to her, to keep her from rising out of her chair. Shel shot him a warning look, but silently granted him another moment of her time.

  “Court documents can remain on file for years without anyone being the wiser. Once I turn this over to anyone, it’s like pulling the trigger on my life—and my child. Everyone from the Feds to the press will be nosing around, asking questions to build a case or just get a good story. Meanwhile, where will my daughter be? That publicity is nothing more than distraction. It gives my wife too much opportunity to run a
nd it makes them both fair game for anyone’s revenge.”

  “Mr. Fortier, I’m sorry I can’t help you.” She stood and prepared to make her point by storming away before she remembered the complicated security system. She waved toward the French doors. “Call Alfred or James, or whoever your butler is, and tell him visiting hours are over.”

  Again, Fortier stopped Dubois from intervening. Despite his evident disappointment, Fortier gathered the paperwork, cash, phone, and AmEx, put them back in the manila envelope, and tucked it under his arm. He also stood. “I’ll see you out.”

  Instead of taking a direct route to the exit, he detoured her through the mansion, down another hallway lined with more similarly gory paintings. He stopped in front of a particular door and nudged it slightly open.

  Shel laid eyes on the pinkest, frilliest little girl’s room she’d ever seen. She couldn’t hide her awe at the child-sized playhouse, table and chair set, and overflowing toy box. The centerpiece was an over the top canopy bed in the middle of a white, fuzzy rug. “Extravagant,” she whispered.

  “If Harper is spoiled, then I’m to blame.” Fortier wore a sad smile. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. She’s beautiful, bright...perfect. That’s my baby.” He nodded at a nearby dresser where a series of photographs were arranged in little pink frames.

  She picked up one after another and studied the child’s smiling face. “Harper’s about six?”

  “Four,” he corrected.

  She knew nothing about kids. She returned the photograph and picked up the next. A woman with aqua eyes stared at her from the frame. Long, auburn hair cascaded over the baby’s fuzzy head as she nuzzled the child to her breast. “I take it this is Kathleen?”

  “Yes.” Fortier stood behind her. “One of my favorite pictures.”

  Shel set down the photograph and turned to face him. “Aren’t you at all concerned that someone else could have snatched them? You seem wholly convinced your wife is the bad guy here.”

  “I’m convinced that she made good on her promise.” He looked away and spoke slowly. “She repeatedly threatened to take Harper away from me because she knows my daughter is the only thing in the world that matters to me.”