Page 97 of Hot Momosa

While I didn’t like the idea of using my son as an excuse, I was desperate enough to ignore my morals for the time being. “What does she do for a living? Criminal charges? Any hint of scandal around her?”

Shanna flashed me a smile. “You’re going to love this. Elle McGuire runs a homeless shelter in Orlando. She’s married to the pastor of one of the largest churches in the state—and wait for it—” She drummed her hands on the countertop. “She has five adopted children. All from women who’ve died of drug overdoses. Mrs. McGuire might as well have Saint tattooed on her forehead.”

“Perfect. What if anything did you tell Leo about this?”

“Same thing I told you.”

“Perfect. Let’s go.” I pulled my boots on and headed for the kitchen.

Leo nodded to the food on the table. “Want something before you go?”

Shanna snagged two pieces of bacon, wrapped them in a pancake, and dipped the concoction in syrup. When she caught me grinning, she said, “Don’t say a word. This isn’t for me—it’s for the baby.”

Leo folded his arms. “I want to come with you.”

“We can handle it.” Shanna took a huge bite. “Besides, we’ll have Stuart with us.”

He didn’t seem impressed.

“We’ll be careful,” I said.

“Careful, Mamma.” Gunnar held his sticky hands out to me. “Bye kiss.”

Leo nodded. “Call me at the first sign of trouble.”

After a quick kiss on the cheek for Gunnar, and one on the mouth for Leo, we left the condo via the rooftop access to the building next door. Once inside, we hurried to the first floor.

Stuart, even more vigilant than usual, led the way. I hadn’t asked, but I assumed Leo had given him hell for leaving the condo unlocked and unarmed. The man barely met my eyes, and when he did, he looked away as if afraid I’d turn him to stone if he stared too long.

The paparazzi were lying in wait for us at the rear entrance of the store. I’d known the secret escape route wouldn’t stay secret forever, but the timing absolutely sucked. The reporters shouted questions about Harry, Gunnar, the stalker, Leo, my sex life. You name it they asked, but I ignored them.

Shanna leaned close. “How do you deal with this day in and day out?”

“They’ll move on. All we have to do is give them a better story.”

Stuart pulled me against a building to shield me from the cameras. “We should drive.”

“The restaurant is two blocks away. It’ll take too long to get the car and fight the traffic.”

Shanna pointed to a narrow space between the buildings. “It’s best if we take the service roads and stay off the sidewalks. We’ll be fine once we’re inside.”

He frowned but did as we’d asked.

The damned paparazzi dogged us until we reached the edge of Enzo’s employee parking lot, and I immediately knew why. The flashing lights and dozens of police officers, paramedics, and other first responders were far more interesting than a presidential candidates daughter’s love life.

I stopped and stared, trying to make sense of the situation. “What’s going on?”

“Looks like a murder.” The color drained from Shanna’s face. “That’s the coroner’s van, and I recognize at least four homicide detectives. I need to find Enzo.”

“They aren’t going to let us into a crime scene,” Stuart said.

“Who said anything about walking through their crime scene?” She smirked and strode toward the far side of the building.

I followed, but the closer we came to the chaos, the more my stomach hurt. On average, a murder took place every three days in New Orleans, but there were far fewer in the French Quarter. Random violence happened, but I couldn’t shake the feeling this wasn’t random at all.

“Shanna, besides Elle, who knew we were coming here?”

“I didn’t tell anyone besides Leo.” She stepped through the side door and waited for us to follow. “Don’t assume what’s going on back there has anything to do with you.”

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