Page 72 of Highball and Chain

Shanna

The Garden District,arguably the prettiest part of New Orleans, passed outside the streetcar window, but I stared at my phone. Maggie had called three times, and Enzo had machinegun fired my cell with voice and text messages—each one angrier than the last.

I couldn’t blame him. I had lied to him and snuck out of the house. Although my reasons had seemed sound at the time, in the grand scheme of things, they were foolish.

His last text made my stomach churn.

The shots fired Ragusa might have been for you. Please come back.

I pulled my ballcap down over my face and slid on my sunglasses. They were a piss-poor disguise, but they were all I had with me. My job forced me to deal with shady people, doing shadier things, in the shadiest parts of town. However, in the two years I worked with Alex, I’d never been this unnerved.

Rather than heading straight to my apartment, and possibly into danger, I exited the streetcar on Canal. The busy area provided the cover I needed. Following close behind a group of tourists, I crossed into the French Quarter on Royal.

By the time I reached Landry and Sons Antiques, my fight-or-flight response had kicked into overdrive. I ducked into the backroom, pressed my hand to my chest, and fought to catch my breath.

“Shanna?” Jack emerged from his office.

I’d never been so happy to see my oldest friend. Everything from his rumpled hair to his 50s style, black and white dress shoes was familiar, comforting…safe. He took one look at me and pulled me against his chest. “Honey, I’m so sorry about your apartment.”

“Have you been there?” As much as I wanted to be held, I didn’t have time for a full-scale breakdown. I pulled away and took a step back to prevent him from hugging me again.

He closed the distance I’d placed between us and gripped my upper arms. Staring until I met his eyes, Jack said, “No. I was on the phone with Maggie when you came in. She’s worried about you.”

Enzo must have called her. “You didn’t tell her I was here, did you?” Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought I’d see my best-friend as the opposition.

“I did…” Frowning, he guided me into a chair. “What’s going on?”

Somehow, I didn’t think Jack would believe me if I told him the Sicilian mafia might have ordered a hit on me, killed my cat, and burned down my apartment. I had to get a grip and come up with a plausible story before he had me committed. “I can’t get into the details.”

“Since when?” He narrowed his eyes.

Since Enzo Marchionni. “It’s about a case I’m working on.”

His expression softened a hair. “Go on.”

“I…um…can’t.” My lack of judicial creativity bothered me more than my sudden distrust of Maggie. I’d always been able to bullshit with the best of them. It came with the job. The fact I had absolutely nothing to say told me how much the situation had freaked me out. I never should have left the mansion.

“Are you in danger?”

“Maybe.”

Jack stood, paced away, and marched back. “What does this have to do with Maggie and the Marchionnis?”

I shook my head.

“Damn it, Shanna.” He folded and unfolded his arms. “Do you need to get out of town?”

I couldn’t handle my nerves, let alone his. “Jack, please sit down. You’re making me nuts.”

“I’m making you nuts?” He barked out a laugh. “That’s rich.”

“In the last few days, Alex fired me for no reason. My apartment was torched. Someone fired a gun over my head. Mr. Boogerre is missing—”

His eyes widened. “Mr. Boogerre was in the apartment?”

Out of everything I’d said, he’d focused on my cat, and I loved him for it. “Mrs. Dixon was going in a couple of times a day to feed him and keep him company. She hasn’t seen him since the fire.”

Jack walked behind the counter and pulled out a set of keys that would make a medieval jailer jealous. “You remember my old hunting cabin down in Terrebonne Parish?”

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