Page 48 of Whispers in the Quarter

Jazz band providing cover fire (???)

Woman matching “Ghost” description

Man in lab coat “giggling while shooting”

Note: All security footage mysteriously corrupted

The last notesof my trumpet fade into the smoky air of the Spotted Cat, bleeding into the usual mix of applause and clinking glasses. From my spot on stage, I scan the crowd out of habit. Regular faces, a few tourists, and—there at the back—two suits trying too hard to look casual. Feds, but not their leader. Ethan’s absence from his own operation sets off warning bells in my head.

“Great set, Jazz.” Marcus, my bassist, claps my shoulder. “You okay, man? Seemed distracted during that last number.”

Before I can answer, Melody bursts through the side door, her face tight with an urgency I’ve never seen before. My heart kicks against my ribs—I know that look. That’s the look of someone with shadows on their tail.

“We need to go.” She grabs my arm, her fingers ice-cold. “Now.”

“Sugar, what?—”

“Alex is coming.” The name means nothing to me, but the fear in her eyes means everything. “He knows about us, about Lucas. He’s going to?—”

The side door opens again. A tall man in an expensive suit enters, followed by two others built like brick walls. The temperature in the club seems to drop ten degrees.

“Stay behind me,” I murmur to Melody, stepping between her and the newcomers.

“Jazz Reynaud.” The tall man’s voice is smooth as top-shelf bourbon. “Your reputation precedes you. That last piece was particularly moving. What was it called?”

“Midnight in New Orleans.” I keep my tone easy, though my hand tightens on my trumpet. Eight years on these streets taught me a good instrument makes a decent weapon in a pinch. “Written it for someone special.”

“Ah yes.” His eyes slide past me to Melody. “Our mutual friend. Though I knew her by a different name. Several, actually.”

Movement at the main entrance catches my eye. Lucas slips in, looking wild-eyed and more disheveled than usual, that brilliant madness of his focused to a dangerous point. Through the window, I spot Ethan’s team getting into position, but their boss is nowhere to be seen. Something about that feels wrong, but there’s no time to analyze it now.

Well, shit.

“Club’s closing early tonight,” I announce, loud enough for the regulars to hear the warning in my voice. They know the drill—when Jazz says go, you go.

The crowd starts thinning, but Alex’s men position themselves near the exits. The suits at the back tense, hands moving toward concealed weapons. The feds seem unsure without their leader, exchanging glances like they’re waiting for orders that aren’t coming.

“Now, now.” Alex’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “No need to end the party early. I just want to have a chat with my old protégé.”

“That’s not happening.” My voice comes out harder than I mean it to.

Melody’s hand touches my arm. “Jazz, don’t?—”

“Listen to her, musician.” Alex steps closer. “This is far above your pay grade. Walk away now, keep those talented fingers intact.”

The threat hangs in the air like stale smoke. I feel Melody tense behind me, ready to move. Lucas has worked his way closer, something almost gleeful in his manic energy. His eyes keep darting to his phone, checking messages with poorly contained excitement. Whatever’s got him so wound up, it’s not just the current situation.

“You know what I love about jazz?” I spin my trumpet casually, like I’m just making conversation. “It’s all about improvisation. Reading the room, feeling the flow, knowing exactly when to...”

I bring the trumpet up hard, catching one of the brick walls under the chin. “Change the tune!”

Chaos erupts. Alex’s men surge forward as Lucas grabs Melody’s arm, trying to pull her toward the back exit. His usual unhinged brilliance has an extra edge tonight, like he’s riding the high of some particularly fascinating experiment. The feds burstin, shouting contradictory commands without their leader’s steady presence. Someone fires a shot, shattering the mirror behind the bar.

“This way!” I grab Melody’s other hand, yanking her toward the secret entrance behind the stage—a relic from Prohibition days that’s served me well over the years.

Lucas stumbles after us, giggling aboutmultiple concurrent experimentsunder his breath.

“The organization will find you!” Alex’s voice carries over the mayhem. “You can’t protect them forever, little shadow!”

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