A Father's Duty. Joanna Wayne

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СКАЧАТЬ want to tell me why you’re really here?” he asked.

      “I just did.”

      “You’re not a cop. You’re a lawyer, and I’m not involved in one of your cases.”

      “Then why do you think I’m here, Tanner?”

      “You think I had something to do with the beating, and that if you keep harassing me I’ll blurt out the truth. But since you’re not a cop, I guess you’re just looking to pick up a big case and acquire some clout. Best of luck with that, but you’re still wasting your time with me.”

      “This isn’t about clout. It’s about underage girls being sucked into a life of prostitution and being killed if they try to leave.”

      “If you know that much,” he said, “why don’t you and the NOPD go in and shut down the operation? You surely know that mob boss Jerome Senegal and his second-in-command Maurice Gaspard are behind all of this.”

      “Whatever information we have is privileged at this point.”

      “Sure and you’d tell me, but then you’d have to kill me.” He leaned closer and something inside her head clicked on, releasing a rush of adrenaline and an out-of-breath feeling, as if she’d been running.

      “If you attorneys with the D.A.’s office are so gung ho on getting the bad guys off the streets, quit throwing out the cases and take more of them to trial.”

      “Everyone is innocent until proven guilty. We can’t take people to court without sufficient evidence to warrant it.”

      “Well, you’re not going to find any evidence here, and I’ve got to get back to work.”

      Just as well. Although she felt strong, disturbing vibes around Tanner, the images she’d expected hadn’t returned and she was getting nowhere with her questions. She opened her leather briefcase, took out her business card and laid it on the table between them. “If you think of anything else, please call me.”

      “Nothing else to think of.”

      Only he didn’t get up to leave. Instead, he picked up her card and studied it as if it were a puzzle he was trying to solve. “I guess you’ve questioned a lot of prostitutes,” he said.

      “A few.”

      “They must be running scared these days what with the attacks.”

      “Some are.”

      “What do they do when they get scared? Do they band together? Leave town? Have someone who helps hide them?”

      “It varies.”

      His questions suggested more than casual interest and reinforced Georgette’s original fears about Tanner. His gaze bored into hers, and the intense scrutiny stirred confusing emotions.

      “I appreciate you taking time to talk with me,” she said, standing and extending her hand.

      He took it, and she felt a rush of warmth, followed by needling prickles along her fingertips. The images of the young blond woman returned, full force, pushing reality aside.

      Perspiration rolled down Georgette’s forehead and mud squished between her toes. There was nothing but endless swamp in front of her and the air was so fetid, it made her nauseous.

      She reached out for something to hold on to as her knees buckled and she started to slide into the murky water, but all she caught hold of was the open briefcase which crashed to the floor at her feet.

      “Hey, don’t faint on me.”

      The voice sounded as if it were coming from a long way off. Finally, the images began to evaporate, leaving Georgette shaken, but aware that Tanner had an arm around her shoulder and was holding her steady.

      She jerked away. “I’m sorry.”

      “No need to be sorry, but you need to see a doctor.”

      “I’ll be fine.”

      “You damn sure don’t look it, and you totally blacked out for a few seconds there.”

      She raked her hair back from her face and took a couple of deep breaths. The images had faded, but the fear hadn’t let go of her. Fear so intense it was palpable, but it didn’t belong to Georgette. It belonged to a young woman. The same woman as she’d seen in the psychic visions the other night, but her hands and feet were no longer tied, and this time she was running through a swamp.

      “Let me get you a soda,” Tanner said, already stooping to gather the papers that had apparently slipped from her briefcase.

      “Thanks.” That would buy her some time. Besides, her throat was so dry she could barely swallow. Tanner was definitely involved with the woman in some way. So now what? She couldn’t question Tanner about the images, and she certainly couldn’t take this to Sebastion. One hint of the gift, and she’d lose all credibility, if not her job.

      But when Tanner returned and she took the cold soda from his hands, she felt the strange connection take hold again. Someone was trying to reach Georgette through Tanner.

      Or else the evil emanated from him.

      “I WANT HIM out of jail—now.”

      Sebastion Primeaux stared past Jerome Senegal and kept his gaze on the barge floating down the Mississippi River. It was late afternoon, but the sun was still relentless, and the humidity felt as if they were breathing through wet wool.

      “I can’t let Tony walk, Senegal. The media will be all over me.”

      “You’re breaking my heart here, Sebastion. I thought we were friends. Friends don’t let friends down.”

      “I’ve done everything you asked up until now, but this is over the line. It’ll cost me my job and then it won’t matter if you blackmail me with those damn pictures or not.”

      The mob kingpin stepped into Sebastion’s space, his breath reeking of garlic. “Does it matter if one of my guys pays a visit to that pretty little wife of yours? Does it matter if he slices up that face right in front of your kids?”

      Sebastion felt the pressure pushing against his brain.

      “So what is it, Sebastion? Tony or your wife?”

      “Leave my family out of this, you—”

      “What? You giving the orders now?” Senegal smirked, and his leathery face screwed into a thousand rutted wrinkles. “’Cause I don’t think you got the balls to go against me, Sebastion.”

      And if he did, Jerome Senegal would cut them off or have one of his hit men do it for him. Meet Senegal on the street, and he was just another guy in his late fifties who’d eaten too much jambalaya and crawfish and spent too much time baking in Louisiana sunshine, but Sebastion knew him for what he was.

      He’d earned his right to run the mob by killing anyone who got in his way, had beat their brains out with a baseball bat and had their bloody bodies delivered to СКАЧАТЬ