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“Do you know if anybody lives here?” Annie asked as she walked toward him.
The kid turned the bike in a slow circle. He wore a dirty whiteNew Orleans Saints T-shirt, and his dark hair stood up every which way, like he’d stuck his finger in a light socket.
“I don’t talk to no po-po,” he said, and he gave her the finger and took off, standing on the pedals, the bike swaying side to side as he raced away.
Good little lookout, Annie thought. It made her sad to be so cynical about a little kid, but it was a real possibility. If he was, he would report to some higher-up that there was a cop poking around, asking questions. She could ask Rayanne about the place, but she doubted she’d get an answer. At any rate, she’d used up her time with Rayanne Tillis for one day. If she pushed too hard, she would never get anything out of her.
She walked back down the side of the house and around the back, taking a closer look at the back porch, looking for and spying a white security camera the size of a deck of cards, mounted up high on the wall. It was angled to spot anyone coming up on the back porch. Whether Robbie Fontenot’s back door might have been in its line of sight was anybody’s guess, but it was worth finding out.
Her phone pinged to signal the arrival of a text message as she walked back to her vehicle. Nick.
At the PH. Where are you??
Somewhere you won’t like, she thought with a little knot of dread forming in the pit of her stomach.
On my way back, she typed, adding a smile emoji, as if that might soften him up.Fat chance, she thought, heading back to her vehicle.
9
“You’ve beenawfully busy forsomeone who was supposed to be counting paper clips today, no?” Nick said, closing the door behind her as Annie walked into his office. The space was spare and impersonal, organized immaculately down to the last detail, a perfect reflection of its occupant: private and carefully compartmentalized.
Annie cringed a little inwardly at the undertone of irritation in his voice.
“Yeah, I got sidetracked into serving the public,” she said, turning to face him.
He had left the house that morning looking crisp and pressed and ready for court. Now his shirtsleeves were rolled up, the knot in his tie had been pulled loose, and he had undone the collar button of his shirt.
“I gather your day hasn’t exactly gone to plan, either.”
“Mais non,” he confessed. “Got called to a dead body on my way in.”
“What happened to court?”
“They cut a deal. They didn’t need me after all.”
He looked her over from head to toe, his dark gaze intense, missing nothing—not in a sexual way, but assessing, judging, looking for any sign she wasn’t physically fit to be there. Annie pulled her shoulders back and stood up as tall as she could, the way people were said to do when facing off with a panther. That was her husband—the human embodiment of a big cat: powerful, athletic, intense.
“How you feeling, ’Toinette?” he asked softly, stepping closer.
Annie held her ground, looking him dead in the eyes. “I’m fine.”
He frowned, his brows drawing together above his aquiline nose. “Me, I don’t quite believe you. You look tired.”
“Youlook tired,” Annie countered. “Maybe you should go home and have a lie-down.”
“How’s your head?”
“It’s fine.”
“Fine. You know I don’t like that answer,” he complained. “That word doesn’t tell me anything, yet you toss it out like a shiny object, as if it might distract me when you know better. Should I have to interrogate you like a suspect?”
“I don’t know,” Annie said softly, widening her eyes and batting her lashes. “Will that involve some kind of restraints? Lieutenant Fourcade, you shock me!”
He wagged a finger at her. “Don’t you try plying me with your womanly wiles, Antoinette.”
“You didn’t seem to mind that last night,” she murmured, taking another step toward him.
He gave her a warning look. They had always been scrupulously careful to draw a line between their professional and personal relationships, for the sake of both their reputations and the emotional balance of the squad.
