Diabolical (Shaye Archer Series Book 3) (2 page)

“I honestly don’t know what you can do,” Corrine said. “I don’t know what
I
can do. I’ve been struggling with it every minute of every day since all of this mess with Clancy happened. I swear, if I had an answer, I’d share it with you.”

The impatient and slightly belligerent expression he’d worn before slipped away and was replaced with remorse. “I’m so sorry, honey. I know this can’t be easy for you, and since Shaye is as stubborn as you are, I know exactly how you feel.”

He wanted her to smile, so she forced a tiny one. “I guess I deserve everything I’m getting, right?” she said.

“Maybe a little.” He rose from the chair and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “I have to get back to the office, but if you can think of anything, please let me know.”

“I will, and thank you.”

“Give Shaye my love. I’d like to take you both to dinner this week.”

“I’ll let her know.”

Pierce headed into the house, and Corrine looked across the swimming pool at the beautiful landscaping and lush grass that made up her backyard oasis. She was surrounded by beauty but spent so much time dwelling on the ugly side of life. Why couldn’t she have been some simpleton heiress, content with tea parties and charity events? And Shaye one of those girls who loved dresses and talked about weddings and babies?

She frowned. Yuck.

Those women were so far removed from the two of them that she didn’t even believe it possible for them to fill those roles for a day without whining. She had to face facts—both she and Shaye had a calling…a bigger purpose than being pretty faces for society paper photos. They wanted to make the world beautiful for everyone.

Unfortunately, they hadn’t even put a dent in it.

* * *

H
e watched
her as she left the psychiatrist woman’s office building and headed down the sidewalk toward her SUV. She was careful, always checking the street before she walked. Always checking the back of her vehicle before she got in. Alarm system. Martial arts training. Nine-millimeter at her waist.

He’d been watching her off and on ever since the night the cop found her. The night she’d escaped. At first, he figured he’d wait until social services put her in one of those group homes, then he’d get her back and go on as usual. But then that Archer bitch had shown up at the hospital and everything had gotten complicated. He decided the girl had to be killed before she could tell his secrets. Before she ruined all his careful work. But the Archer woman made everything impossible. Police guards. Private security. And the hospital played along with her every whim. No one could get to the girl. Not even him, and before now, he’d always been able to find a way.

He followed the story on the news, waiting for the girl to tell everyone what had happened to her. But as the days ticked by and nothing was forthcoming, he started to wonder. Then the news leaked. The girl had no memory of the past. Not even her own name. He wanted to rejoice but was afraid to. What if the memory loss was only temporary? He’d always been careful when he’d taken her food and when he conducted the ceremonies. He’d always worn a mask, as had the other participants. But they hadn’t disguised their voices. He’d heard about a case where the victim had identified the man who attacked her by his voice alone. The jury had bought it, and the man was in prison.

Then he’d started to worry that one of the others might get scared and be tempted to say something to the police. That the threat of an investigation backed by Pierce Archer’s money might be enough to have them offer up a deal in exchange for their own freedom. So he’d eliminated the others. No one would ever match their voices, because he’d silenced them forever. Then he waited and watched, but weeks, then months, passed and the news reported nothing new and eventually, the entire story faded away.

He wanted to believe he was safe. That she would never remember, but it was impossible to relax with that thought constantly niggling in the back of his mind. He thought again that if he killed her, he’d be done with it forever, but would he? Or would killing the girl be the thing that got him caught? Everyone was watching her now, fawning over the sad little victim. And the Archer bitch had surprised everyone by taking her in. If anything happened to the girl now, he’d have the Archer bitch and all her money pushing to catch him, and he didn’t need that kind of heat.

He had one other option. It was a tricky one, but manageable.

But he hadn’t needed to use it.

She never remembered.

Nine years had passed and the girl had never done anything to indicate she could recall her past. He’d moved away for years, feeling that a new city was the only safe way to continue his practices, but no matter how many cities he tried, he’d always come back home, even if only for a short while. New Orleans was the only place he’d ever felt the power of the One and True God, and he’d returned for good three months ago, finally allowing himself to slip into the comfort of one who had gotten away with it.

He’d needed to return to the ceremony and ritual that he’d abandoned since the girl escaped. He’d just made arrangements to return to the old ways. To return to the spiritual place he used to dwell. Then that idiot Clancy had gotten caught and he’d started to worry again. The news was filled with stories of notebooks collected from Clancy’s work site. What if they were records of Clancy’s “other” line of business? He’d given Clancy only his first name, but what if it was somewhere in those notebooks? It wasn’t an odd or unique name, but it wasn’t overly common, either. If the police started poking around, would they find something to trace the girls back to him?

They were questions with no answers and only one solution.

He’d decided that he needed to clean house, as he should have nine years before. So he started doing reconnaissance immediately. So many people might possess knowledge they didn’t even know they had, and if the cops figured out Shaye Archer was one of the girls Clancy sold, they would question everyone all over again. Something that might not have made sense all those years ago might make a whole lot of sense now.

The cops who found the Archer girl. The doctor and nurses who cared for her. They were all on the list. And of course, Shaye.

It was the only way to ensure her continued silence.

F
riday afternoon
, Shaye walked into the police station and greeted the desk sergeant, who gave her a big smile.

“You’ve been busy, Ms. Archer,” he said. “That was a fine bit of work you managed with Detective Lamotte.”

Shaye felt a blush creep up her face at the veteran cop’s praise. “Thank you, but I think I got lucky more than anything else.”

“Nonsense. You’ve got a good gut for this kind of work. I think you’ve got a big future ahead of you.”

“Don’t tell my mother that.”

The desk sergeant smiled. “Well, mothers worry. That’s their job. Still, kids have managed to live their own lives for thousands of years despite it. I’m guessing you will too.”

Shaye smiled. “You’re very perceptive. You must be a cop.”

He laughed. “Stop flattering me and get on back to your meeting. Down the hall where the interrogation rooms are. Second on the left.”

“Thanks.” Shaye headed down the hall for the interrogation rooms, wondering for the hundredth time why she was being called into the station. She’d answered a million questions already about her last case, which had intersected with a case Detective Lamotte had been working. Her written statement had been lengthy and very detailed. She kept copious notes when working and had been happy to turn them all over to the New Orleans police when her part in the investigation had wrapped up.

It was her second case since she’d opened her own private investigator firm, and she’d been tasked with a single objective—to find a missing street kid named Jinx. She’d been “hired” by another street kid, Hustle, who’d helped her with information on her first case. Her part of the investigation had ended well, with Jinx rescued and reunited with her aunt, who was legally seeking to gain custody. Jinx’s future looked bright. Hustle was living with the man who’d saved his life, and who was also a friend of Shaye’s, and was helping him with his motel.

But for the New Orleans police, the investigation was just beginning.

John Clancy, the man who’d kidnapped Jinx and other street kids, had been trafficking humans for almost twenty years. Stacks of notebooks containing coded lists of buyers and sellers had been recovered from his office before he’d had the opportunity to burn them. Now the police were tasked with the seemingly impossible job of trying to figure out who the buyers and sellers were and attempt to locate those who were sold. It was one giant cold case that was unlikely to yield any happy endings.

But the police wouldn’t call in a private detective for help with that, and Shaye had no information about John Clancy to contribute other than the small number of facts she’d already given them. So whatever she’d been called here for, that wasn’t it. And her…friendship, she’d call it, with Detective Jackson Lamotte was growing stronger, but if Jackson wanted to talk to her, he’d call her himself. And she seriously doubted he’d ask her to come to the police station, especially if it meant his partner and superior officer, the useless Detective Vincent, might use it to cause trouble for Jackson.

She located the second room and rapped lightly on the door. A man’s voice inside called for her to enter, so she opened the door and stepped inside. A middle-aged man with graying hair and a dour expression rose from the end of the table and studied her for a couple of uncomfortable seconds.

“I’m Shaye Archer,” she said, breaking the silence. “I understand you wanted to meet with me?”

She glanced over and saw Detective Vincent sitting at the far end of the table. He was leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and staring at her like the cat that swallowed the canary. Shaye felt her back tighten. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good. She wasn’t worried about herself, but if Vincent had found a way to get back at Jackson for making him look like the lazy, incompetent ass he was, Shaye knew he’d use it.

The other man continued to stare and Shaye lost what shred of patience she had. “And you are?”

“My name is Malcolm Frasier,” he said. “I’m with internal affairs.”

“Then I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong person, Mr. Frasier,” Shaye said. “I’m not a cop.”

He smirked. “No. But I have reason to believe that you have information I’d be interested in concerning Detective Jackson Lamotte.”

Shaye stared directly at him. “I can’t imagine that I do.”

“So you’re saying you don’t know Detective Lamotte?” Frasier asked.

“I know Detective Lamotte. I know a lot of detectives.”

“But you’re not getting confidential information from the other detectives you know.”

Shaye shot Vincent a dirty look. This was all him. She was certain of it. “I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. Detective Lamotte has never shared confidential information with me.”

Frasier raised one eyebrow. “Your statement on the Clancy case says that you were in Detective Lamotte’s company when you got information concerning your missing persons case and that you asked Lamotte to assist you. That’s a convenient way to insert yourself into police business.”

“It was certainly convenient for the kids we rescued, and all the potential victims of John Clancy.”

Frasier ignored her remark and continued. “If you weren’t attempting to make yourself party to a police investigation, then perhaps you’d care to explain why you were in the detective’s company in the first place.”

Shaye struggled to keep her temper under control, but it took every ounce of strength to do so. The lengths Vincent had gone to in order to discredit Jackson, a man who’d gone above and beyond to find the missing kids, was more than she could stomach.

She looked Frasier directly in the eye and forced her words to remain controlled. “Actually, I don’t care to explain anything to you. It was a private matter, so unless my personal life has become the purview of the New Orleans Police Department, then I have nothing else to say.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Frasier said.

“Am I?” The complete and utter condescension was the final straw, and Shaye drew in a breath, preparing to do the one thing she never did. “Did Detective Vincent tell you who I am? Who my grandfather is?”

A tiny flicker of uncertainty passed over Frasier’s face and he glanced at Vincent. “I don’t see why that’s relevant.”

“Pierce Archer is my grandfather. State Senator Pierce Archer. I’m sure you know the name.”

Frasier did his best to maintain his cool, but Shaye could see the chink in his armor. Vincent had overplayed his hand and Shaye had called his bluff. She turned around and looked at Vincent.

“I’m not a fan of abuse of power,” Shaye said, “so I don’t say this lightly. Don’t screw with me
or
my friends.”

Vincent’s face reddened but he couldn’t work up a response.

“Good day, gentlemen,” she said and exited the room, slamming the door behind her.

She marched right back to the desk sergeant, who took one look at her and asked, “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I need Chief Bernard. By any chance is he available?”

The desk sergeant jumped up from his chair. “I’m sure he can be. Just give me a minute.”

He hurried off down the hall and Shaye took in a deep breath and blew it slowly out. She’d spent an untold number of years being a victim. Damned if she was going to be bullied by a woman-hating, bloated old windbag. And double damned if he was going to railroad the career of one of the finest detectives in the department because of her.

Vincent had just crossed a line he couldn’t step back over.

* * *

D
etective Jackson Lamotte
headed across the parking lot toward the police station. He’d been running down leads on a warehouse burglary all day and had been hoping for a hot shower and a cold beer. Instead, he’d gotten a summons to return to the office. Fifty bucks said it was more bullshit that Vincent had dreamed up. Ever since he’d rescued the kids with Shaye, Vincent had turned up the heat on Jackson, doing everything possible to undermine his work.

For the life of him, Jackson couldn’t figure out what Vincent’s problem was. He was certain Vincent thought Jackson was making him look bad—actually working and all—but everyone in the department had known about Vincent’s lack of work ethic long before Jackson was saddled with him. Jackson’s recent successes had only served to highlight Vincent’s laziness, but so what? Vincent wanted to daydream into retirement, so why didn’t he? No one would say a word if he sat in his chair and let Jackson do all the work. So why didn’t he just shut up and ride his chair into retirement?

Ego.

That was almost always the answer with men and most assuredly with cops, but that left Jackson in the impossible position of either doing a lousy job or constantly having Vincent gunning for him. His own pride and ego refused to allow him to do a lousy job, so he supposed he’d spend the rest of Vincent’s time with the department serving as the sacrificial lamb to Vincent’s complaints.

He walked into the department and gave the desk sergeant a nod. “Hold up, Jackson,” the desk sergeant said.

“What’s up?” Jackson asked.

“I’m supposed to send you to Chief Bernard’s office.”

Jackson stiffened. Maybe Vincent had finally managed to get Jackson in trouble. “Any idea why?”

“Maybe, but it’s not my place to say. Don’t sweat it. Bernard’s fair and he sees more than people think he does.”

Crap. Jackson gave the man a nod and headed for the chief’s office. It was about Vincent. He should have known. The older detective hadn’t bothered to check in with him all day, despite the fact that Jackson had left him several messages, and now he was probably whining about paperwork that wasn’t done or something equally trivial. Jackson would just present his side of things, then go home for that shower and beer. Make that beers, plural. He was probably going to need them.

He’d barely knocked on the chief’s office door when he heard the summons to enter. The desk sergeant had probably alerted the chief that Jackson was on his way. He stepped inside, and a tiny bit of relief coursed through him when he saw only the chief inside. No witnesses probably meant no reprimand for whatever violation he’d committed according to Vincent.

The chief motioned for him to sit, and he sat across the desk from Bernard.

“You’ve done some good work lately,” Bernard said. “Work that makes this department look good. More importantly, work that’s saved people—now and in the future.”

Jackson struggled to control his surprise. This wasn’t at all where he thought the conversation was going to go. “Thank you.”

“There’s been some rumbling from Vincent.”

Jackson sat back in his chair.

Here we go.

“Talk about you providing confidential information to Ms. Archer,” Bernard continued, “and using police resources to aid a private investigator.”

“None of that is true,” Jackson said. “Shaye’s case and mine intersected. I didn’t put her onto it. In fact, she was working it before I was.”

“I know that, and don’t think I don’t see what Vincent is trying to do. I didn’t get to this position by being obtuse. But the tension the two of you are creating isn’t good for the department. So something has to give.”

Bernard leaned forward in his chair and rested his arms on the desk. “Since Vincent seems determined to keep his head tucked in his turtle shell until retirement, I’m putting him on the Clancy files.”

Jackson felt a flush move up his face, and he knew if there was any time that he should keep his mouth shut, it was now. But he couldn’t manage it. “So Vincent screws off and he gets to run one of the biggest cases in the department’s history?” He shook his head in disgust. It was even worse than Jackson getting fired. Not only had Vincent’s laziness gotten him on the biggest case the department had ever seen, he’d managed to make Jackson look like the bad guy.

“Vincent won’t be running it. Frank will.”

Jackson looked back at the chief as some of his anger began to dissipate. Detective Frank Rizzoli was a New York transplant who had made a name for himself with cold cases. He could ferret out criminals with minimal evidence better than anyone Jackson had ever known. He was also Grayson’s partner.

“What about Grayson?” Jackson asked. He couldn’t picture the high-strung detective spending his days poring over notebooks, no matter how big the case was. Grayson liked to be in the middle of the action. He wouldn’t be happy at a desk.

“Grayson needs a new partner. He’s requested you.”

“Me?” Jackson struggled to contain his excitement. Grayson was a real cop, dedicated to the job and not afraid to go the extra mile to apprehend the criminal. He had probably twenty years or so on Jackson in age and fifteen with the NOLA police department. His case closure rate was solid and the other officers respected him. Jackson couldn’t ask for a better situation.

“You two will have your own caseload, of course, but when Frank needs help running down leads on the Clancy files, you’ll be assisting there as well.”

It just kept getting better. If Jackson had an inroad to the Clancy investigation, then he’d be able to find out if any progress was made concerning Shaye.

And so would Vincent. Shit!