Page 15 of Buried Too Deep

Because Alan was very, very upset.

He hung up the phone carefully, staring at the bag containing the two laptops Sage had taken from Broussard’s office. One of them might have information about Cora Winslow.

And if neither of them did, he’d have to…

Well, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. But if the Winslow woman continued to push for the truth, she would have to meet the same fate as her father.

The stakes had been unbelievably high twenty-three years ago.

They were astronomical now.

The Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 13, 11:15 A.M.

Walking away from the police station as quickly as she could, Cora fished her cell phone from her purse. She’d given the burner phone to the detective in charge of investigating Joy’s shooting.

“Cora,” Harry said, sounding out of breath. “Stop.”

She stopped abruptly, turning around to see her attorney huffing and puffing. Talking to the police had given her the headache from hell, but driving Harry to a heart attack would be a horrible end to an already shitty day.

She took Harry’s hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you run.”

With his free hand, he took a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. “I’m not as young as I used to be,” he said, still out of breath. “Where are you going, Cora?”

“To the hospital. I need to see Joy.”

Harry frowned. “Not while her shooter is still at large. If the man was truly after you, it might be better to lie low for a little while.”

If. Her own attorney doubted her.

“Maybe call in sick to the library,” he went on. “Stay home where it’s safe.”

But her home wasn’t safe. She’d told him that, too. He didn’t seem to believe the break-in at her home had been connected, either.

Oh, he hadn’t let the detective know that. Harry had been a tiger with Detective Clancy, demanding police protection for Cora, but the NOPD didn’t have the resources for that. The detective had actually looked sorry when he’d told her that.

“I’ve already called in to the library. Took a sick day. I’ll go home after I’ve checked on Joy. Thank you for coming, Harry. I wasn’t sure who to call.”

“I wish you’d have let me get you a criminal defense attorney. I do trusts and wills.” He’d been her grandmother’s attorney for years and the first name she’d thought to call when she’d decided to go to the police. “At least they don’t suspect you.”

“I don’t know about that,” Cora said dryly. “They took my fingerprints and did a GSR swab on my hands.”

“You shouldn’t have agreed to that,” Harry scolded. “I told you that. Why did you even call me if you weren’t going to listen to my advice?”

“Because I haven’t fired a gun in months,” Cora snapped, “so I knew they wouldn’t find anything. If they’re looking at me, they won’t be looking for Joy’s shooter.”

Harry looked frazzled. “I can’t go to the hospital with you. I have appointments this afternoon that I can’t miss. Please go straight home, Cora. I’ll check on your friend as soon as I can.”

“I’ll go home,” she promised. After I see Joy.

“Straight home?” Harry pressed.

“I have to make a few stops,” she hedged. “I’m out of milk.”

Which was true. It was also true that she never drank milk. That had been her brother. She felt the stab of sorrow deep in her heart.

She missed him. Every day.

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