Page 79 of Gin & Trouble

“I didn’t want to ask in front of your mom, but would you mind picking up some crackers and ginger ale while you’re in the cafeteria?” She rubbed her nonexistent baby bump. “I think the stress has brought on my morning sickness.”

I pulled her into a tight embrace to keep her from seeing the guilt in my eyes. “I’m so sorry. I’m not going to rest until I find out who did this.”

23

Frankie

I neededcover or concealment or a freaking place to hide. What I had was a panicked crowd, tightly packed buildings, and half the freaking New Orleans police force. My only hope of getting out of the Quarter was to keep my wits and stay in large groups of people.

Running quicker than the tourists would have drawn attention. Ducking into a store or hotel could work, but I’d be trapped inside. Since I had no idea where the Sicilians were, I didn’t dare stop moving.

I glanced up and recognized one of the shops. I was on Royal Street. Lucky for me, it was one of the busier areas this time of year. Keeping my chin down, I slipped out of Dante’s hoodie. Pasquale and his buddy would be looking for a woman in gray fleece, not a black cotton T-shirt. I was terrified they were following, but I knew better than to look over my shoulder. One—it would slow me down, and two—a face was far easier to recognize than the back of a head.

I crossed St. Louis Street and sent up a prayer of thanks when the looming white marble of the Louisiana Supreme Court building came into view. Several groups of police officers stood on the stairs leading to the entrance. Not an uncommon sight, considering the station was next door, but there seemed to be more uniformed men milling about than usual.

Two shootings in two hours. No wonder they’re on alert.

Forcing myself to walk at a normal speed, I split from the crowd and made my way inside the courthouse—and into a security check point.

Crap.

The officer manning the metal detector and x-ray machine nodded toward a long thin table. “This way, Miss. I’ll need to check your bag.”

“Sure.” I glanced over my shoulder, half-expecting Pasquale and his accomplice to burst through the door with guns blazing.

“Miss?” The officer held his hand out for my purse. “Everything okay?”

“Sorry. I think I’m in a state of shock. There was a shooting on Chartres.” I set my bag on the table, dropped my dead cell into the bowl, and walked through the metal detector.

“I heard.” He rummaged through my purse, but rather than handing it back to me, he stared. “Did you see what happened?”

“No. I heard the shots and then people started running, so I ran, too.” I rubbed my upper arms as if to warm myself. “Lost my jacket in the process.”

“This city is going to the dogs.” Shaking his head, he handed me my phone and bag.

“Is there a ladies’ room nearby?”

“Second floor to the left of the stairs.”

I gave him a quick nod and followed his directions to the restroom. Once inside, I splashed water on my face and did my best to calm down. Easier said than done.

A woman dressed in a navy-blue power suit walked into the ladies room. She gave me a polite smile and washed her hands.

“Excuse me.” I pulled my cell from my bag. “My phone died. Would you mind if I borrowed yours? It won’t take long.”

She stared from my beat-up sneakers, to the oversized T-shirt I’d borrowed from Dante, to my uncombed hair.

I looked an absolute mess. I just hoped it worked in my favor. “Please, it’s important. I can’t even use an office phone because I need to sign into my cloud to retrieve a number.”

“Sure.” She handed me her pale purple iPhone, and hitched her thumb toward a stall. “I’ll be in there.”

“Thank you.” I never would have handed a stranger something so valuable and then went pee. I mean I could have made a break for it.

What’s happened to me? When did I become so damned cynical?

With Sophia missing, I didn’t know who to call. Unlike Dante, I didn’t have a close family or family close by. I didn’t have brothers or sisters-in-law or nieces and nephews, or two loving parents. I barely knew my siblings—except Sophia—and she wasn’t exactly the drop-everything-and-help-out type. I envied the Marchionnis.

And then I remembered an email I’d received from Marco.

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