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  “Stop,” she said, tears freely flowing now. “Stop telling lies.”

  “Now be a good girl and put down the gun. It’ll all work out, you’ll see.”

  “Back off,” Shel warned, shooting him a look. She studied the angle of Addison’s drawn weapon, her mounting anxiety and twitchy fingertip on an already unsteady gun. Shel risked a closer step. “Focus on me, please.”

  Addison cast small glances her way giving Shel the smallest confirmation that she’d penetrated the woman’s mania.

  “Harper needs you,” she gently prodded. “Think of her.”

  “Yes, please think of Harper,” Fortier echoed her pleading tone.

  “You are a thief and a liar,” Addison retorted.

  “Whatever you say, I forgive you.”

  “Forgive me?”

  Shel watched their absurd play, the cynicism and accusations, and wondered what she’d gotten herself in the middle of. Was it possible Fortier cared for his daughter, or was he a mastermind wife-beater as Addison claimed? And was she truly desperate or truly a liar…? At the moment, both were putting on award worthy performances. Shel leaned with all her emotional might on her instincts, praying they would not fail her on this, but in the background, the pair’s rapid-fire exchange needled at her self-doubt until she felt her head might burst.

  “Both of you shut up!” Shel suddenly had their attention. She looked at Addison, said, “Give me the gun. Now.”

  “No.”

  Fortier looked exasperated. “Call the authorities, for God’s sake.”

  “Tell her about the art fraud and the money you stole,” Addison squinted, clearly trying to better her aim. With growing conviction, she commanded, “Tell her.”

  “What are you talking about?” He looked genuinely befuddled. “Please, Kathleen—where is the baby?”

  “Tell her about the buy offs and the loan sharks and the fake art—tell her every bit of it!”

  He hesitated then calmly said, “I’ll not ensnare myself in the trap of a madwoman.”

  “You son of a bitch,” Addison muttered, looking exhausted.

  “Addison, do the right thing,” Shel sternly told her.

  “Think of our daughter!” It was Fortier.

  “I am thinking of my daughter.”

  “If you do this, Kathleen, they’ll put you away for good,” he stated. “You’ll lose your freedom.”

  “You took my freedom long ago.”

  Shel took a closer step. “Addison—”

  “Nothing you can say will stop me.”

  “Well then, Kathleen…” The last remnants of Fortier’s pristine composure melted in front of them as did his thick put-on New Orleans accent as he leaned close, whispered, “Go fuck yourself.”

  Despite her trembling hands, Addison racked the Glock’s slide like a pro and pressed the barrel against Fortier’s temple. She sounded loose, airy. “Let’s play your favorite game.”

  “No!” Shel trained her aim first on Addison, then Fortier, then back on Addison. She could take either one of them; she could kill the liar. She knew protocol: remove the threat. With Addison’s flinching finger on the trigger of a gun pressed against his temple, he would die. She licked her lips, swallowed hard. Her hands were clammy on the grip. “Don’t do this.”

  “Do you know he skates on everything?” Addison tapped the gun against the side of his head, emphasizing each word. “Everything! People think I’m crazy and he gets a pass.”

  “You are crazy.” The line of perspiration over his lip glimmered in the low light as he taunted her. “Do it, Kathleen. Pull the trigger.”

  “Harper needs you, Addison,” Shel asserted, her aim continuing to bounce between them in a hellish decision-making process. Remove the threat.

  “This isn’t an old-fashioned game of roulette, Kathleen.” Fortier chuckled. “That Glock will put a hole in my head the size of a cannonball—spatter my brains everywhere. I hope you’ve got the stomach for that. This close up there’s no room for error really, is there?”

  “If anyone shoots the son of a bitch, it’ll be me.” Shel narrowed her gaze at him, once again retraining her aim. She repeated, “I’ll do it.”

  “Well, Carson, you’re as big a sucker as I was.” He boldly grinned despite his present position. “She’s setting you up for the fall. You’ll sit in jail while she gallivants around the countryside looking for her next mark.”

  Addison shook her head, showing very real signs of losing it. “You’re a liar.”

  “Women, Jesus Christ.” Fortier now mocked them both. “Somebody fucking shoot me already.”

  Decision firmly made, Shel said, “Addison, step away. I’ll handle him.”

  In a daring move, Fortier turned his head so that the barrel of Addison’s gun pressed front and center to his glistening forehead. His gaze drifted upward as he commanded her, “I’d rather see you handle it. Go on, Addison. Fire away.”

  Addison squeezed the trigger, but lifted the gun at the last second, firing a shot into the far wall. It ricocheted off a ceiling beam and hit the crown molding causing plaster to rain and feather in the distance behind him. Whether the miss was intentional or not, it brought everyone to a flinching high alert.

  Overcome that she’d been unable to do what she’d so badly wanted to, Addison fell to her knees. The gun clattered onto the floor in front of her.

  Shel leapt to the sobbing woman, fished her mobile phone out of her pocket and dialed 911. An automated hold message came down the line, but her attention was captured by another sound. She slowly turned to see Fortier above them, her discarded gun now in his possession. She could no longer hear the words coming across the phone. Her head felt light, her feet and hands, tingly. The last time she’d let a gun get away from her, a woman and her child died. Hypnotized by her own catastrophic error, her focus slowly zoomed back in on the gun Fortier held.

  “Gimme,” he ordered, wagging his fingers to indicate her weapon. Disbelieving the very bad place she’d put them in, Shel had no choice but to give up her gun. He snatched it, stuck it in his robe pocket. The silk sagged under its weight. Addison had been stunned into silence, her teary eyes wide as she realized the breadth of their dire situation.

  “Bet you wish you’d shot me.”

  Neither woman spoke or moved. He motioned for them to stand; they did.

  “My little wife has no idea what happens when you fire a gun, do you, dear?”

  Obviously intimidated as much by Fortier’s words as the gun he held, Addison didn’t budge.

  “You get an invisible residue all over you—irrefutable evidence that you tried to shoot me.” He cast a quick glance over his shoulder at the bits of plaster still falling. He grinned evilly. “A shitty shot for sure, but it works. Picture this—wealthy man, alone in his home, the estranged wife comes back around, firing wild shots—I did everything I could to calm you down. I had no choice but to kill. God bless the State of Louisiana and the Stand Your Ground law—amen!”

  His expensive slippers scuffed through remnants of plaster as he sauntered toward them and leaned terrifyingly close to Addison. “What was it you said? I skate again. Free pass.”

  “I already called the police.” Shel tried to appear confident.

  “You called nine-one-one on a disposable phone. That’s a lot of towers pinging to pinpoint a single location.” He tipped his head to one side, blinked. “And you were a real cop? Wow.”

  His focus came back around to Addison. “Let’s get down to business. Where’s my money?”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “Well? I’m waiting.” Fortier stood before them, gun pointed at Addison. “Where’s the money, honey?”

  “I don’t have it,” Addison numbly confessed.

  “You don’t? Well, then who does?” He walked a slow circle around the pair. “I know Bernard didn’t have it. He told me before I killed him. The coach—oh, what’s his name?” He paused, pretended to briefly ponder the puzzle. “Fattish guy, early
40s…?”

  “Oh no…” Addison shook her head, looked at her feet. “No, no…”

  “What was it he said after he came down off his tough-guy high horse?” His gazed bounced between the women. “They all say a bunch of gibberish in the end. Panic, I guess.”

  “He had a family!” Addison wailed.

  “So did I, you rotten bitch.” Fortier stepped close, his red face very near hers as he spat, “I had pretty little wife and child and money and you took it all!”

  Addison started crying again, her chin dipped almost to her chest, her body heaving with her sobs.

  “My associate tells me she’s in Naples, Florida,” he plainly announced. He looked at Shel, gave her a tight grin. “Thanks for that, by the way.” He then looked back at Addison. “I’ll get her and you can go to your grave knowing that full and well.”

  “No, no…” Addison quietly sobbed.

  “You want to do something good for your child? What fate will you bequeath your precious Harper?” He tipped his head to one side. “Tell me where you put my money.”

  Shel was helpless before the sick game unfolding before her.

  “I gave it away,” she blurted through her tears. “I gave it back to the charity you stole it from.”

  Fortier took a half-step back, seemingly caught off guard. He blinked several times as the information sunk in. “The newspaper headlines. That big donation…?”

  Sobbing, Addison nodded.

  His snarky smile disintegrated before their eyes, giving way to an expression that rapidly cycled from disbelief to panic, then anger. He took a step back and fell into a harried pace in front of them. His angry tone rose concurrently with his volume. “My money was their big-fat anonymous donation?”

  “Yes.” Addison’s own voice held a deep resignation that said the woman had quickly accepted her dark destiny. “P-please, I beg you to leave Harper alone.”

  Fortier ceased his pacing and spun to face her, his eyes glinting with steely hatred.

  “Funny.” The word seethed through his low, maniacal chuckle. “That’s the last thing your godparents begged for you.”

  Shel felt her stomach bottom out as he marched toward them wielding the Glock, his purposeful eyes trained on Addison, his finger on the trigger. Behind him, the flurried fallout from the earlier misfired shot rapidly evolved into a full-fledged, vigorous snowstorm of plaster and wallpaper. At once, a symphony of creaking window casings and shattering glass hit a dreadful crescendo, showering them with a million tiny shards. The wall had exploded.

  Chaos unfurled as SWAT members, their guns thrust out before them, infiltrated the library. Shouting incomprehensible commands, they encircled Shel, Addison and Fortier. Squinting against the cloudy debris, the women raised their hands in surrender as their knees hit the glass-covered floor. In seconds, Fortier also went down.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “I got to hand it to you, that was quite a trick you pulled off.”

  Shel and the cop sipped beers, relaxing in the new chaises on the front porch of her little rental house. Soothing sounds of cicadas could be heard rising up in the background for their evening sonata in the otherwise quiet neighborhood.

  “That’s the best you got?” Milford’s look bordered on insulted. “You’re awfully selfish with your praise.”

  Shel rolled her eyes, but gave her what she had due. “You saved the day.”

  “For the love of Mike, don’t sound so surprised. I’m not dead, I’m just in Naples.” The cop took a sip of her beer, scoffed, “Think we don’t ever see action in this sleepy little town? Please.”

  “Anyway, you saved us.” Shel’s gaze drifted to the house across the street, now shuttered and vacant, just as Addison had left it weeks ago. Her tone took a melancholy turn. “I’m not too sure I was all that deserving of your help, but you gave Addison a chance to start over. I’m forever grateful for that.”

  Milford glanced her way, then back toward the hazy orange sun dipping low in the sky over clusters of palms. Quietly she said, “Oh, you’re worth it, hotshot.”

  As if to distract herself from all the things she didn’t want to think about, Shel softly said, “Since I know you’re dying to brag about it, tell me how it all went down.”

  “Took you long enough to ask.” Milford brightened. She drained the last of her bottle, set it aside, leaned forward slightly in her chair and began to unwind her tale. “First, I found the sleazeball’s picture and faxed it to Fort Myers.”

  “Cut to the chase, Milford,” Shel interrupted her, rolling her hand with hopes of expediting the story she’d already heard in bits and pieces. “You’re a super cop, you already told me.”

  “Sap the glory outta my story, why don’t you?” Milford tried to look offended, but in truth, Shel knew she was anxious to get back to her tale. “Anyhow, a buddy of mine did an extensive computer search and bam—there’s our big cheese New Orleans art honcho in prison garb, charged with theft, forgery and about half a dozen other things.”

  “He was in the system and nobody found him.”

  “He was in a system, just not ours.” Milford shrugged her meaty shoulders. “He’d been flushed clean out of NCIC—Lord knows how he managed that. Fort Myers couldn’t help. The savior of the hour is Lil, the Central Avenue librarian.”

  Shel sat up, gave Milford a good look. It was the first time she’d heard this part of the story. “Get serious.”

  “Yep. I’d had her look for his picture, the one I told you about in the Picayune society pages. Long after I was gone, she continued her search.” Milford shook her head. “The woman is nothing if not persistent.”

  “Foiled by a librarian,” Shel said, still stunned.

  “And now let’s get back to me,” the cop said, shooting her a look. “By the time I got the word from Lil, you were already headed Fortier’s way. I made a bunch of frantic calls to the Bureau who wasted more damn time cross-referencing every detail. I was sweating the time it took, I admit.”

  “I was sweating it,” Shel admitted. “I should have known you’d have our backs.”

  “You had your own back. Every call that comes through nine-one-one is recorded.” She made a low whistle. “Fortier was screwed in multiple ways that night. It’s really over for him.”

  “I can’t believe no one found him before now.”

  “Like many of ’em did, he made his escape during Katrina. Records either conveniently vanished in the flood or he persuaded them into vanishing—he’s linked to a half-dozen other similar scammers. God only knows who—or what—is directly responsible.”

  “They just let him walk out of prison.”

  “Imagine the burden of the prison guards. Water’s rising, the prisoners will die in cages, so the guards turn ’em loose. I don’t blame ’em. I wouldn’t want it on my conscience.”

  “I suppose.” Shel was obsessed with conscience and choice of late. She finished her beer and set her empty bottle next to the cop’s. “So Fortier walked, but stayed in New Orleans. That’s a brass balls move right there.”

  “The guy turned himself into a local hero. Anyone who gave him the eye had their palms quickly greased, and in the end nobody was in a terrible rush to do anything about it. I supposed they reasoned it was forgery and theft, not murder.” Milford paused, arched an eyebrow. “Well, not until now, anyway. That was a fortunate confession you got out of him, whether you intended to or not.”

  “I intended to try and stay alive,” Shel confessed. She pictured Fortier with his gun trained on Addison. “I only hoped he’d kill me first.”

  “I know how badly that worked out for you the last time,” Milford somberly said. “I’m glad you shared that story with me.”

  “Adrenaline makes me spill my guts.” Shel referred to a conversation they’d had on the way back to Naples. Milford had come to retrieve her after days of lengthy interrogation by the Louisiana Bureau. “You seemed like a good person to tell.”

  “By the way, your la
dy—Silvia Frances—she was an abuse victim herself and the key witness in some big trial against her ex, kind of like your girl. When it was over the Fibbies plunked Ms. Frances in a protection program, which is the reason for the trouble I found myself in when I checked out her files. You should have heard the FBI apologizing for putting me through seven flavors of hell once they found out I was on a case.”

  Shel’s amused eyes flicked in the cop’s direction. She grinned big. “Oh, Officer Milford was on a case.”

  “That’s exactly what I told them.” Milford shrugged unapologetically. She softened some. “Course I also told them I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

  “Don’t do me any favors,” Shel sarcastically told her, though she was secretly pleased to have her name mentioned alongside something good for a change. She again became serious. “I’m sure Addison already did, but I want to thank you.”

  “Sure, kid,” Milford said. “You heard anything new about her?”

  “Immunity in exchange for testimony,” Shel told her. She tipped her head to one side, considered it. “No prior convictions and it worked in her favor that she’d given the money back to the charity.”

  “I’m sure.” Milford went quiet for a moment. “I was sorry to hear about your Loyola coach. Guess we didn’t win on that one.”

  “He and Bernard Smith went to great lengths to keep her safe.” Shel shook her head still disbelieving she’d so badly misread them at the beginning. “These network people are good at what they do, Milford.”

  “God bless ’em for it.”

  The sun dipped at last, casting an ocean of orange and blue watercolors across the sky in its wake. Shel leaned back in her chair, clasped her hands over her chest. “So, what’s all this mean for you, Milford?”

  “Promotion and a big raise.”

  “You serious?”

  “Hell, no, I’m not serious,” Milford scoffed. “It’s still government.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, I retired.”

  Shel lurched forward in her lawn chair so quickly she was almost folded up inside the contraption. “What? You can’t retire.”