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With a sigh, I looked back at the laptop, and the files spread out on the dining room table.
I’d decided to work, even though it was Sunday.
I could hear Lexxie’s judgy sigh, several states away.
Tucking one leg under me, I shuffled through the papers. I didn’t tell her that I’d gone out the evening before. Or that I’d danced with a hot billionaire.
I closed my eyes. Flirted with a hot billionaire, who may or may not be involved with my investigation.
It didn’t take much to remember how it felt to be held in his arms, pressed up against his hard body, his lips on my skin.
Dammit, London. I opened my eyes, my jaw tight. I was not letting the man distract me from my investigation.
The investigation that was currently going nowhere. Our task force had been at this for a few weeks now, and we’d made limited progress. I released a long breath. It was frustrating as hell.
It didn’t matter that Kavner was gorgeous, or charming, or that his body lit me up like the Fourth of July.
It was my job to stop the flow of money to criminals. My throat tightened. People thought of financial crimes as being victimless and less serious, but I knew that was bullshit.
Turning my head, I saw a framed picture of my mother. Lisette Coleman had been a beautiful woman. She was smiling in the photo—beautiful and vibrant. It had been well before her failing heart had eaten her away.
After my father had gone to prison, she’d had to take two jobs just to support us. My father had left us with nothing. He’d been conned by a wealthy, shady businessman into getting involved in fraud. Been lured by the promise of quick riches. Instead, he’d gone to prison, we’d lost our house, and been left with a couple of suitcases of clothes. Mom had worked herself to the bone to make sure Lexxie and I stayed fed and clothed.
Beside the frame was a small, wooden puzzle box. It was beautifully crafted, inlaid with a geometric design. My mom had given it to me not long after my father had gone to prison. I’d always loved searching for clues and solving puzzles.
It had sparked a small obsession. I had a small collection of puzzle boxes in my apartment in Virginia.
When my cellphone rang, I jolted and snatched it up. “Coleman.”
There was nothing on the line, but then I heard someone breathing. My fingers tightened. “You can talk to me.”
“Agent Coleman.” The man swallowed. “It’s George. George Batt.”
My pulse spiked. It was the man who worked at Brennan Auction Gallery. I’d been cultivating him as an informant.
“George, do you have something for me?”
“Yes. I got some copies of some documents.”
He sounded scared. “That’s great. Can—?”
“Meet me now. The French Quarter. Pirates Alley.”
I glanced at my watch. It was mid-afternoon, and shouldn’t be too busy. Pirates Alley was a cobblestone, pedestrian street near the Saint Louis Cathedral. “Okay, but wouldn’t—”
“Just do it.” The line disconnected.
George was spooked.
I stood. I was wearing leggings and a tank top from the yoga session I’d done earlier online. I had no time to change. I was too worried that George would lose his nerve.
I grabbed a zip-up hoodie in a pretty, moss green and shouldered it on. Then I headed out the door.
It wasn’t far to the French Quarter. It would be easier to go on foot, than drive and try to find a parking spot. On the sidewalk, I moved into a light jog. This would help me blend in, anyway. I was just a woman out for an afternoon run, not an agent meeting an informant. Besides, I liked to run. I used a treadmill in the gym when I was pressed for time, but otherwise I preferred jogging outside.
The weather was nice. Fall in New Orleans meant warm days but cooler nights.
God, I missed my city.
