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Bayou Justice
Mallory Kane
Eight years ago, in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, three men lost everything. Now it's time to reclaim what is theirs….In order to bring justice back to New Orleans, FBI agent Ray Storm must once again turn to Molly Hennessey for help. This time, though, convincing the gorgeous attorney to believe in him is going to take more than just one night of seduction.
Praise for reader favorite Mallory Kane
“Readers will almost taste the flavor of New Orleans in this mystery that’s never about the whodunit but about the whydunit, all handled with Kane’s deft hand at suspense.”
—RT Book Reviews on Death of a Beauty Queen
“Kane creates feisty and independent women who are more than a match for their men, and this story is a terrifically complicated thriller.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Sharpshooter’s Secret Son
About the Author
MALLORY KANE has two very good reasons for loving reading and writing. Her mother was a librarian, who taught her to love and respect books as a precious resource. Her father could hold listeners spellbound for hours with his stories. He was always her biggest fan.
She loves romance suspense with dangerous heroes and dauntless heroines, and enjoys tossing in a bit of her medical knowledge for an extra dose of intrigue. After twenty-five books published, Mallory is still amazed and thrilled that she actually gets to make up stories for a living.
Mallory lives in Tennessee with her computer-genius husband and three exceptionally intelligent cats. She enjoys hearing from readers. You can write her at mallory@mallorykane.com.
Bayou Justice
Mallory Kane
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Michael, for always.
Chapter One
Ray Storm dodged a pair of college girls on bikes sporting Tulane backpacks and frowned as he looked at the hamburger joint that sat exactly where his apartment had been back on August 29, 2005, the day Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans. The corner of Octavia and Freret streets was almost unrecognizable. Not surprising, but disconcerting.
He’d watched the coverage 24/7, like everyone who had been in New Orleans on that day. Later, he’d watched the in-depth news stories and the TV specials, and because he’d been an FBI agent, he’d read top secret memos and reports unavailable to the general public.
Now, eight years later, he stared at where he’d lived then, struck anew by the knowledge that not only had Katrina changed New Orleans and the world forever, she had changed him, as well.
Before his brain could start down the dangerous path of how different things might have been if that particular storm hadn’t struck on that particular night in that particular city, a striking, vaguely familiar figure caught his eye. A tall woman with café au lait skin, dressed in slim jeans and red platform heels, emerged from between two massive Hollywood South eighteen-wheelers, dragging every male gaze away from the bustle of director chairs, booms and cameras in her wake. Ray shook his head in wonder at the woman he’d known eight years ago as a hopped-up C.I.
Another life changed by Katrina, that graceless lady.
Angelica DePuye didn’t stop until her nose was less than two inches from his. She propped her fists on her slim hips. “I swear to Pete. You are alive and breathing. I thought I’d gotten a call from beyond the grave.” She smiled. “You might be surprised at how often that happens these days.”
Ray put his hands on her shoulders and took a step backward, eyeing her with his brows raised. “Looks like the past eight years have been good to you, Angel.”
“Humph,” she snorted delicately and tossed her head, sending the sleek ponytail anchored at the crown of her head swishing, then kissed his cheek. “You can call me Officer DePuye,” she retorted, sliding a hand into her jeans pocket and slipping the edge of an instantly recognizable black leather case free for an instant. “But not in public. These days I’m a narc.”
Her mouth was twisted in a mocking smile, but Ray saw the pride in her dark eyes. “No way,” he said. “That’s great.”
Before Katrina, Angel had been a heroin addict and NOPD officer Mack Rivet’s confidential informant. She shrugged. “After Katrina, I lost my C.I. cred, and believe it or not, it was damned hard to find H at any price.” She shrugged as she tucked the badge case back into her pocket. “I had to do something.”
“Something,” Ray echoed, a chuckle in his voice. “Which in your case was merely to get sober and enter the police academy.”
“Well, it wasn’t as easy as it sounds. Buy me a cup of coffee,” she said, gesturing toward the café with a toss of her ponytail, “and tell me what’s brought your Yankee butt down here again.”
They went into the burger joint, where, with the exception of the scowling man behind the counter, they were the oldest by at least ten years. All the customers and most of the waitstaff had the earnest, freshly washed faces of college students.
Ray gestured for two coffees, then sat back. “A lot has changed.”
“First words out of everybody’s mouth when they come back,” Angel commented.
The waitress set the thick white cups in front of them and managed to mumble something and pop her gum at the same time.
“Might be a cliché, but it’s true,” he said, shaking his head at the girl, figuring there was a 90 percent chance she’d asked if they needed anything else. Once she’d moved on to the next table, he leaned forward. “Tell me about Mack and Remy.” Remy Comeaux and Mack Rivet were the two NOPD officers who had worked with him on the Louisiana Disaster Avoidance Task Force Investigations Team back in 2005. “The FBI pulled me out of there so fast once Katrina hit that I wasn’t able to contact either of them.”
Angel shook her head. “So you didn’t know that Lee Barnaby had ’em both arrested—”
“What?” Ray said. “I knew there were some officers who got out of line. But not Mack or Remy. Why in hell would he arrest two of the best cops he—” Ray stopped.
Angel quirked a brow. “Yep. I think you figured out the answer to that one. Probably hoping to shut them up about your sting operation. But I’m guessing Mack’s and Remy’s files say looting and assault.”
Ray was stunned. Mack and Remy were two of the most stand-up guys he’d ever known. His mentor, Mitch Stone at the FBI office in Washington, D.C., had handpicked them to work with Ray on the multiorganizational team to investigate corruption in the LDAT because of their spotless records. They’d been young, like him, but they’d already proved themselves to be detective material.
“I just read something about Barnaby. Wasn’t he ousted from his new position as police chief?”
Angel sipped her coffee. “Yep. He’s under indictment for corruption and murder. Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving guy,” she said wryly, then smiled. “That was Remy’s doing. Oh, and Mack tracked me down a couple of months ago looking for a hacker. He wanted information about Melvin Landry’s financials as well as Mayor Barrow’s. Someone had been skimming funds from the city’s rebuilding funds and Mack was sure it was Barrow and Landry.”
“Melvin Landry. That’s Mack’s wife’s father?”
“Yes. It turned out he was innocent, but Mack was instrumental in bringing down the mayor and Tate Manning, Landry’s lawyer, for stealing the city rebuilding funds.” Angel looked at her watch. “I’ve got to get going,” Angel said. “I’ve got a sentencing hearing in an hour.”
Ray stood with her. “So Remy and Mack brought down Barnaby and Mayor Barrow.”
“You got it,” she said with a laugh. “Now, if you can get the goods on Hennessey, we’ll have ourselves a Big Easy hat trick.”
“That is exactly why I’m here,” Ray said, “and why I called you. I need to get in touch with Mack and Remy.”
“I’ve got a phone number for Remy,” she said and gave him the information. “Now, seriously, I’m going to be late.”
“Okay,” he said. He kissed her on the cheek. “Good to see you, and congratulations on the job.” He pulled back and looked her in the eye. “One last thing. How in hell does Hennessey, with his history, have the nerve to run for governor?”
Angel straightened her caramel-colored leather jacket and swiped a hand over the sleeked-back hair at her temple. Then she gave Ray an eloquent shrug and shook her head. “What can I say?” she remarked. “This is the Big Easy, cher.” She turned and walked toward the door. Ray threw some bills down on the table and followed her.
Outside, she turned to him with a knowing look. “By the way, remember Hennessey’s little sister, Molly?” she asked innocently.
Ray swallowed. He wouldn’t forget Molly Hennessey if he lived a million years, although he wasn’t going to say that to Angel. He’d been undercover as a law student doing an internship with the LDAT over the summer and Molly had been volunteering in her brother’s office during her summer vacation from Tulane Law School.
Ray had flirted with her and eventually taken her to bed. He’d gotten what he’d wanted—proof that Hennessey was skimming federal funds. Ray had set up a sting operation to catch Hennessey and several other LDAT officials who were involved, but he’d hurt Molly.
“Ray?” Angel said, snapping her fingers in front of his eyes.
“What? Yeah. Hennessey’s little sister,” he said flatly.
“Yeah. Martin Hennessey went to work as a real-estate lawyer after Katrina, working with a greasy character who’s made a fortune flipping houses and doing who knows what else. Molly took over her brother’s law practice when he decided to run for governor.”
“Who’s the greasy character?”
“Flannery Thrasher. How’s that for a ten-dollar name? Get this. He’s campaign manager for Hennessey. Word is, he’ll be secretary of state when Hennessey wins.”
Ray felt relieved. “So at least that means Molly’s not working for him.”
“That don’t mean a thing. Thrasher’s with Martin 24/7.”
“What are you saying?”
Angel shrugged. “I’m just saying Remy thought you might want to know about him, so I ran him. Turns out I couldn’t find a damn thing about Flannery Thrasher before 2005.”
Ray frowned. “That’s true of a lot of people, isn’t it? Weren’t hundreds of thousands of documents destroyed in the floods? I lost almost every piece of information I’d collected on the LDAT.”
“Sure. But New Orleans vital records for the year of Thrasher’s birth are intact, but there’s no record of anyone by that name.”
“And you did the searches yourself?”
“I damn sure did.”
“You mentioned Molly.”
Angel checked her watch again. “I met her a couple of times. She seemed like a very sweet girl. But she’s surrounded by corruption—her brother, Thrasher, who knows who else. She needs somebody to watch out for her, or she’s going to get hurt.”
THE NEXT MORNING, Ray sat in the restaurant of the Monteleone hotel looking at the newspaper. The front page had two huge headlines. Most prominent was Hennessey Receives Coveted Endorsement, accompanied by a smiling photo of him and the senior U.S. senator from Louisiana. Slightly smaller and positioned just to the right of Hennessey’s photo was the second headline. Does Corruption Extend Beyond Police Department and Mayor’s Office?
Ray chuckled, then reached around the paper to pick up his café au lait.
“I had a good laugh when I saw that this morning, too,” a familiar voice said from behind him. Remy Comeaux pulled out a chair with one hand and waved the waitress over with the other. He pointed at Ray’s mug. She nodded.
Ray set the paper aside. “Good to see you,” he said.
Remy eyed him. “Yeah, you, too. Surprised, though. What’s the occasion?”
“I just came off a deep undercover assignment and found out that you called the FBI offices looking for me a couple of months ago.”
“I wondered why you didn’t get back to me,” Remy replied. “How deep?”
Ray lifted his mug. “Four years.”
“Whoa.” Remy shook his head. “Hope it was worth it.”
“Yeah.” Ray made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “It’s over now. I guess you called about Barnaby?”
The waitress set a mug in front of Remy. He nodded his thanks. “That’s right. I thought you’d want to know that things had come to a head again after all this time. By the way, Angel said y’all talked yesterday.”
“She brought me up-to-date,” Ray said.
“I gotta say, it’s nice to know all I have to do is pick up the phone and you’ll come running,” Remy said wryly.
“Anything for you, sweetheart,” Ray drawled. “But I didn’t come down here because of your phone call—figured you’d already have your problem solved. Before I went undercover, I tried to keep up with what was going on down here, especially with our four friends from LDAT. So when the assignment was over and I got the message that you’d called, I started catching up on everything I’d missed. The first thing I saw was that Hennessey was running for governor.”
“Can you believe those bastards came out of Katrina smelling like roses? I was in Houston when I saw that Barnaby had gotten the chief of police position. All I could think was he’d have even more power. So I came back to stop him.”
“Good job,” Ray said simply. “Why’d you leave in the first place? New Orleans is in your blood.”
A shadow crossed Remy’s face. “Barnaby threw Mack and me into jail for ‘looting.’ But the flooding tripped the electronic locks and I just walked out. I went to find Carlotta, but she never showed up at the hospital where she worked. I searched for weeks, but you saw how it was down here, right? So I had to accept that she was gone, along with my job and my city, so I left.”
“Oh, man, I am so sorry—” Ray started, but Remy held up his hand, grinning.
“Don’t be. Coming back here was the best thing I ever did. I came back looking for Barnaby and I found Carlotta. We’re getting married.” Remy’s normally solemn face glowed.
Ray nodded. “That’s great, man. What about Mack?”
“Same song, second verse. He walked out of the jail, too, but I had no idea where he was. Turns out he thought his wife and new baby were dead, too, so he slunk back into the bayou to nurse his wounds. Only, he still got the newspaper, so when Barnaby went down, he contacted me. He was ready to clear our names. He was staking out a party by the local elite and who does he spot alive and well? His wife, Lily. And then he helped bring down more of the players.”
“So he ended up proving that Mayor Barrow was in on the government corruption with Barnaby,” Ray filled in. “Good job, both of you. Where’s Mack now?”
“He and Lily and their son are on a long, quiet vacation at the beach, getting to know each other again.”
Ray tapped a finger on the newspaper. “What do you know about Hennessey?”
Remy drained the last of his café au lait and pushed the mug aside. “You mean, can we bring him to the party?” he asked.
Ray nodded. “We had him dead to rights.” He held up his closed fist. “We even had a plea agreement with Flay.”
“Had is right,” Remy said with a shake of his head. “Teague Fortune, a detective here in the Sixth, ran Flay for me. There’s not a damn thing on him after the storm. No credit cards, no checks. Not even a driver’s license or a tax return.”
“What does the Department of Public Records do about somebody who just disappears?”
Remy shrugged. “You kidding me? Somebody who disappeared during Katrina? Nothing.”
“So you’re telling me that Flay is missing and presumed dead?”
“Hell, Ray. It’s been eight years. Ain’t no presumed about it. Too bad we never had a chance to use that plea bargain.”
Ray muttered a few curses he’d learned at his dad’s knee. “That sucks. I was counting on Flay’s testimony. Most of my evidence was destroyed in the flood. Did you manage to salvage anything?”
Remy shook his head. “Anything that Katrina didn’t destroy Barnaby and Barrow got rid of.”
“Great,” Ray growled. “Hennessey belongs is prison, and I’m planning to put him there. There is no way he’s going to be governor if I have anything to say about it.”
“Good luck with that. You’ve only got six months.” Remy chuckled.
