M.L.N. HANOVER - Unclean Spirits

“From here, we have several options to pick the trail back up,” Karen said. “None of them are great. Unfortunately, I don’t have access to the tools I had when I was with the bureau.”

“Tools?” I said, latching onto the word.

“Databases. Surveillance teams. Numbnut beat cops to go canvass neighborhoods,” Karen said. “Running solo, or even with a small team, just doesn’t have the same range, but we’ll do the best we can.”

Chogyi Jake, Aubrey, Ex, and I all exchanged glances. Karen frowned.

“Am I missing something?” she asked.

“We may have some other resources,” I said.

IT MIGHT have been petty of me, it might have been small, but the surprise and pleasure on Karen’s face made me feel like I was worth something.

“Let me read this back, dear. Sabine Glapion,” my lawyer said from the other end of the cell connection. She spelled out both names, then went on. “Granddaughter of Amelie, sister of Daria. Approximately sixteen years of age, but not attending school.”

“I know she was in New Orleans last night, and I have reason to think she’s still here.”

“All right. Just whereabouts? You don’t want her contacted?”

“Just where she is,” I said. “I’ll take it from there. But sooner would be good.”

There was a small, sharp sound on the other end of the connection. It had a finality to it, like something being closed.

“I’ll get back to you as soon as I have something, dear,” she said. “If anything else comes up, you’ll let me know?”

“Absolutely,” I said, then dropped the connection.

“You think that’s actually going to work?” Karen said. I could hear in her voice that she wanted to believe, but didn’t quite dare to.

“Pretty confident,” Aubrey said. Either he was sharing some of my smug, or I just wanted to see it in him. “Jayné’s lawyer isn’t someone I’d cross.”

“Well,” Karen said. Then, a moment later, “All right, then.”

“We still need the wards up on the safe house,”

Ex said. “And the van. And we need a refrigerator and some food at that place. I don’t think we’re going to want to order delivery pizza with a girl tied up in the back.”

“It will take longer, working alone,” Chogyi Jake said. “Two more days, perhaps?”

Ex took a long drink, the last of the black stout sliding past his teeth.

“We don’t have time,” Ex said. “I can help with it.”

“After last night . . .” I said.

Ex looked up at me, his eyes hard as stone.

“This is what I do,” he said. “I can handle it.”

“I’ll help out too,” Aubrey said.

“It’s a two-man job,” Ex said.

“Then I’ll get the fridge.”

“Okay, but food first,” I said. “We’re getting snappish, and that always means low blood sugar. Karen. Is the food any good here?”

“You’re in New Orleans,” Karen said. “The food isn’t bad anywhere.”

“We’ll get burgers or something on the way,” Ex said as he stood. “Aubrey. Jake. Shall we?”

The others rose, and half a beat later, I stood up too. Karen’s bright eyes shifted between Ex and Aubrey, then to me. There was a question in her gaze, so the sudden, inexplicable appearance of a stick up Ex’s ass might not have been entirely my imagination.

We walked back to the hotel in three groups; Ex and Chogyi Jake at the front, Aubrey by himself close behind them, Karen and I bringing up the rear. My cell phone said it was a little bit after five, but the sun was already hidden. I’d barely started my day, and the darkness was coming on.

I’d had sex with Aubrey. Again. Months of keeping myself at arm’s length and agonizing about the divorce papers that were still in my pack had turned irrelevant. The thought alone was surreal, then add in that he was walking two strides ahead of me, his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders tensed up around his ears. Part of me wanted to skip up beside him, pull his arm around my shoulder, and lean my head against him or his against me. The rest of me thought that would be a hilariously bad idea, and kept walking with a scowl through the French Quarter.

It wasn’t a big deal, I told myself. It wasn’t like sex was entirely new territory for us. I remembered the things Karen had said about the rider overcoming inhibitions. The first time out, it took a lot of work to get past the fear and uncertainty and resistance. The time after that, not so much. He was shocked and vulnerable and hurt, and he’d needed that reassurance.

And still, it wouldn’t have killed him to walk beside me.

“And what about you?” Karen asked.

I blinked. For half a second, I thought she was

asking how my needs and feelings fit in with Aubrey’s renewed sex life. She went on.

“With the boys tied up with the safe house, what were your plans for the evening? Dinner and an early night?”

I laughed.

“Early night isn’t really an option,” I said. “Right now, I’m barely up to late morning. I was figuring I’d hang at the hotel, do some research.”

“Research?”

“More about the loa, and Legba. More about the serial killer thing, and what the rider does. Ever since I took over the gig from Eric, I feel like I’m cramming for the big test.”

Karen made a noncommittal grunt. Her expression went blank.

“Why?” I asked.

Karen glanced at me, her eyes almost apologetic.

“I’m feeling a little keyed up,” she said. “Whenever I was on a case and we saw some action, we’d have to stop and file reports afterward. I hated that part. It always broke my stride. This part where we have to wait on the safe house and your lawyer feels a lot like that.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“Oh, no,” Karen said, her hand touching my elbow. “That sounded like criticism. I didn’t mean it that way. I just need to get my mind off of things for a couple hours. Blow off some steam.”

“That would be nice,” I said wistfully. Not thinking about Aubrey’s hot-and-cold or Glapion’s attacks or Ex’s moralistic disapproval sounded like a little dark-chocolate slice of heaven.

“We’re on then?” Karen asked. The sly smile looked playful now. “Change into something slutty, I’ll take you dancing?”

My first response was surprise, my second was resistance, and my third was an almost defiant resolve. All in all, I didn’t think about it for a minute.

“Sounds like a plan,” I said.

KAREN AND I got to The Dungeon just after nine o’clock; it was still early for the nightlife. The club wasn’t entirely open yet, but we could get in the front room, which was good enough for a couple beers and some coin-operated pool tables. Karen was in a small green skirt with seamed stockings, a halter top that made her look considerably more stacked than I’d thought she was, and lipstick the color of fresh blood. I was in my most outré outfit: tight black blouse with a neckline down toward my cleavage and matching skirt slit up the side. I’d done my best with the makeup, but I didn’t usually wear more than a little light eyeliner and lipstick for special occasions. Beside her, I looked like I was in a school uniform.

All the colors in her outfit were saturated and

bright and confident. Her body was closer to magazine-cover perfect than mine had ever been. She looked like a 1950s pinup girl come to life, but what made her beautiful were the scars: the white line at her collarbone, the barely visible pucker on her right arm, the ancient star-shape that made me think of bullet wounds on her ribs just at the hem of her top. Karen’s flesh bore witness to a lifetime of risk and violence, and her acceptance of them—her lack of shame or apology—drew my eye more than admiration or envy.