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Like Manny, Xavier’s mama was not a country music fan.
Oh.A link caught his eye. He was several pages into the search results, so he’d given up hope, but here was something. Paul Lott wins Legal Eagle tournament in a close contest.
He clicked on the link and got sent to a page for some attorneys’ association. Legal Eagle had been a golf tournament for lawyers in New Orleans, in Metairie to be exact. That was where Rocky had lived.
Xavier scrolled down, coming to a group photo. He pinched the photo to enlarge it, zooming in on the face of the guy who held the trophy.
Then gasped. “Holy shit.”
“Xavier,” Cicely scolded. “Language.”
“But, Mom.” Xavier’s voice shook. “Look at this. I finally found a photo of Paul Lott. And the guy following us is not him.”
His mother twisted in her seat, her expression tense, her hand out. “Gimme.”
Willa Mae switched off the radio, leaving the car in total silence.
Cicely blew out a breath. “I was afraid of this,” she murmured.
“I knew it!” Manny exclaimed behind them. “I knew he was shady.”
“What do we do now?” Willa Mae asked. “I can try to lose him.”
Which she’d probably be able to do. For an older lady, she had quite the lead foot.
“No,” Cicely said quietly. “We have to assume that he’s up to no good, since he’s not who he says he is. He’s been nonviolent up until now. If we try to get away, that might change. We still have a few hours until we get to New Orleans. I’ll keep trying to reach Gabe Hebert. If we arrive before we talk to him, then...” She rubbed her temples. “I honestly don’t know.”
“We need a plan,” Carlos said, his jaw tight. “This asshole is not gonna get at X.”
The sound of a gun slide ratcheting echoed through the minivan. “I’m ready,” Manny said grimly. “If he comes up on Xavier’s side, everyone get down. Except for you, Miss Willa Mae. If he starts shooting, I’ll shoot back.”
“I can take care of myself,” Willa Mae said tartly.
“Nobody is shooting anybody,” Cicely insisted. “Anybody else,” she amended when Carlos pointed to Xavier. “We also need to find out what happened to the man you shot, son. You keep calling Le Petit Choux, and I’ll make some calls to the hospital.”
“Someone will want to know why,” Xavier said, ashamed that he sounded scared. But he was scared, dammit.
“I’ll call nurses who I trust. Don’t worry.”
But Xavier did, because his mother didn’t sound all that confident. But they did need to know what had happened to the guy. If he’d been treated and released, he could be after them, too.
Or he could be working with not-Paul-Lott.
“Wait,” Carlos said, whipping out his own phone. “That guy had ID. I took a photo.”
“IDs can be faked,” Manny said. “One of my old girlfriends had one before she was legal so she could get into the bars. Don’t ask me who or how,” he added when Willa Mae perked up, interested. Because Willa Mae was a retired attorney. “I’m not going to tell you.”
“Later,” Willa Mae vowed, then glanced at Cicely. “Don’t look at me that way. We both might need one someday. Especially if we have to go on the lam after all this.”
Cicely rubbed her temples once again. “We are not going on the lam, Willa Mae. I swear to the living God, we are not going to become Thelma and Louise.”
“Spoilsport,” Willa Mae said, pouting. “They were cool. Except for when they died at the end.”
“That was my point,” Cicely snapped, then chuckled. “You sly girl. You got my mind off being scared, for just a minute. Thank you, Thelma.”
Willa Mae looked at his mother fondly. “You’re welcome, Louise. Now call those hospitals. This inquiring mind wants to know.”
“You want me to call that restaurant for you?” Carlos asked Xavier softly.
