Page 6 of Buried Too Deep

Burke was watching the medics work on Joy, his face pale under his tan. “I know.”

Phin shuddered. “His reaction was fair.”

“It wasn’t,” Burke said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck happened? What did you do, Burke?” Antoine asked, but his voice was growing faint.

The whole room was growing faint as the buzzing in Phin’s head grew louder.

Shit. Not now. Not again.

Phin leaned against the wall. His brain was going numb. He could feel it happening. Sliding to the floor, he watched the medics with the out-of-body detachedness that he hated so much.

He was disappearing. Again.

The Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 13, 8:25 A.M.

Cora Winslow darted around the pedestrians on Bourbon Street, trying not to look like she was fleeing for her life. Even though she was.

The throwaway phone was cutting into her hand, her grip on it punishing. Call 911 again. Get help.

But panic had overtaken her, her feet still rushing forward. Get to Tandy’s.

Her best friend’s art gallery was a safe place.

She glanced over her shoulder and nearly cried with relief. No sign of the man who’d stormed the private investigator’s office.

Unless he’d removed the ski mask and his black jacket.

She had, after all. Not a ski mask, but she had taken off her cloak, bunching it up and carrying it under her arm like a football. The black wig she’d worn had come off as soon as she’d turned the first corner and had been flung into a dumpster outside a diner after she’d cut through the kitchen. The banging pots and pans and shouts of the staff had been muted by the pounding of her own heart in her ears as she’d darted out the back door.

And then she’d seen him a block away, running her direction.

Run. She’d done exactly that, crisscrossing the back alleys of the Quarter that she knew so well.

Cora loved New Orleans. She never wanted to leave.

But she might have to. The city was no longer safe for her.

This morning had proved that.

She turned onto Bienville, passing her favorite bakery without even stopping to look in the window. As usual, there was a line of people waiting for cupcakes, and she used them as a shield, mumbling apologies as she slipped through the line to get to the alley behind the bakery.

She was finally alone. She leaned against the bakery’s delivery van, drawing the first full breath since the intruder had shoved past Joy into the boss’s office, demanding to know where “the Winslow woman” was hiding.

Cora’s throat closed. I should have stayed with her. But Joy had told her to run and Cora had suddenly been a teenager again, obeying the woman who’d been one of her mother’s dearest friends. Joy had insisted that the man in her boss’s office would soon realize that everything in there was locked down tight and abandon his search. That she was armed and could take care of herself.

Run before he comes out. He doesn’t want me. He wants you. Run, girl. Now.

So Cora had run.

At least she’d called 911 before she’d taken off. The cops would come and help.

Drawing another deep breath, Cora shook out her cloak, draping it over her arm. She was sweating despite the morning chill.

Tandy would know something was wrong. They’d been best friends since the third grade. Nobody knew her better. Nobody that was still alive, anyway.

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