Possession (14 page)

A
KELA SLIPPED INTO
her robe and knelt in front of her daughter, taking her hands. “Daisy, honey, why don’t you go downstairs and help set the table for breakfast?”

Claude watched the exchange, noticing the complete one-eighty Akela had made since he’d left her to take a shower. She seemed tense and worried. And she’d positioned herself so that her daughter couldn’t see him, although the little cherub kept peering over her shoulder at him curiously.

“Do you like eggs?” the girl asked him.

Akela appeared at a loss for words, her gaze going from him to her daughter.

Whatever joy Claude had felt at seeing Akela’s daughter for the first time ebbed at the look of almost panic on her beautiful face.

Akela said finally, “Mr. Lafitte won’t be staying for breakfast, honey.”

Daisy looked disappointed. But she couldn’t have
been any more disappointed than Claude was as he watched Akela steer her daughter from the room.

He rubbed the towel he held against his hair with more pressure than was needed. What had he expected? Last night hadn’t been some pajama party with pancakes waiting on the table for them in the morning. He was still wanted for murder. And Akela was still a law-enforcement agent whose job it was to arrest him.

She came back into the room, her cheeks flushed, her eyes overly bright. And Claude understood in that one moment that everything they’d been trying to avoid, all that they’d ignored, had just hit them both full in the face, causing the crack that had always been between them to gape wide-open.

“I…I need to get dressed,” she said quietly, then passed him to close herself in the bathroom.

A
KELA FINISHED
applying her makeup, checked her hair one last time, then collapsed onto the closed commode.

She was surprised to find herself out of breath. Ever since Claude had come out of the bathroom and Daisy had seen him, she’d been on overdrive, desperately searching for a way to turn back the hands of time so that reality wasn’t staring at her with bleak intensity.

Her time with Claude on the bayou had been like a dream, something separate from her day-today life. And when they’d come in contact again in the city, she’d allowed that same sense of the unreal to blur the here and now.

Only it wasn’t a dream, was it? What had developed between her and Claude was much more than that. Deeper. More complicated.

She rested her head in her hands and tightly closed her eyes.

She’d been through this before, having engaged in a secret affair with her ex-partner. Although the reasons for hiding her relationship with Dan had been completely different than those in operation now—namely the strict FBI policy of no personal relations between agents—she couldn’t help drawing a parallel between the two liaisons. Her feelings for both men had developed in a vacuum, outside her normal life, outside public opinion and rational thought and practical applications.

And in Dan’s case she’d figured out fairly quickly that what they’d shared in the dark hadn’t had what it took to make it in the light of day, despite the birth of their daughter.

Only Claude wasn’t Dan, was he? He wasn’t her professional partner. Worse, he was a fugitive on the run from the law. And she was the law.

And Daisy’s walking into her bedroom had brought that all home like a fist to the chest.

She pushed from the toilet, straightening the waist of her navy-blue slacks then smoothing the lapels of the matching jacket. She stared at the woman in the mirror, unfamiliar to her now in a way that almost frightened her. This no-nonsense, official-looking person was miles away from the woman she’d been the night before. The woman who had willingly engaged in an affair with a fugitive.

A fugitive who she was in love with.

She opened the bathroom door to find Claude sitting on the side of her bed, fully dressed. His gaze was trained on her carpet, his hands clasped between his knees.

Akela’s heart did a painful flip in her chest.

“So,” he said quietly. “I guess that’s it, then.”

She was bowled over that he seemed to be having the same thoughts as she was.

She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. In fact, she wondered if she was capable of saying anything at all given the tightness of her throat and the burning sensation behind her eyes.

He rose from the bed and collected his cell phone from the nightstand. “Just so you know, I plan on surrendering to the authorities this morning.”

She opened her mouth to object, recognizing
that the knee-jerk reaction was in direct contrast to what she’d been recommending to him all along.

“Why now?” she whispered.

“Come on, Akela, we both know it’s only a matter of time. How many front deskmen can I pay to tip me off about a raid? I’ve hit a roadblock.”

But you’re innocent,
she wanted to say.

She felt his gaze on her and blinked up to find him staring at her with his heart in his eyes. And she felt her own heart break.

“I,” he said, then cleared his throat, “I don’t think it would be a good idea if I ran into anyone else. Is there a back way out of here?”

Akela felt a lone tear slash a path down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand and nodded. “Yes. But it’s through the kitchen. And my family…”

He looked away. “Maybe it would be better for me to go out the front then.”

He walked toward the door.

Akela automatically moved behind him, silently following him down the stairs, uncaring of who saw her and what they might think. Not seeing anything but the man who was walking not only out of her house, but her life.

All too soon they came to the front door. She reached out and touched his shoulder.

“Let me come with you to the station.”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve already caused enough trouble for you. I won’t be the cause of any more.”

“Please,” she said, putting her arms around him and holding him tight.

He smelled of her bath soap, of laundry detergent and somehow of the bayou, although the last was probably her imagination since she’d always associate him with that magical locale.

His arms slowly went around her, his hands resting on the small of her back as he pressed her even closer. He buried his face in the side of her neck, seeming to breathe her in much as she was him.

“Ah,
chere
. It seems love is not without a sense of humor.”

Love?

She shifted to look into his eyes, only the instant she moved, he took advantage of her letting go of him to turn and go.

He opened the door and an ominous series of metallic clicks sounded. Akela froze when she saw three uniformed officers, headed up by Detective Chevalier, their guns trained on Claude.

“Jean-Claude Lafitte, you are under arrest.”

N
O GOOD DEED
goes unpunished.

Claude thought of the saying as he sat in the holding cell with some fifteen other men, each waiting for his bail hearing to be called.

Of course, he had never had the chance to do a good deed. He hadn’t surrendered to authorities. Instead, the authorities had found him first—and at Akela’s of all places.

He rubbed his hands roughly against his face.

He wasn’t sure what bothered him more: being arrested for a crime he didn’t commit, or the memory of Akela’s expression that morning when they’d both realized that they’d reached the end of the road.

Only that road had ended even more abruptly when he’d opened the door to leave her.

He jerked upright, leaning his back against the wall and staring blindly forward, ignoring the guy next to him who was trying to hit him up for a cigarette. He’d known the instant he’d kissed her out
at the bayou that he should never have started something with her while he was still a wanted man. It had been that knowledge that had provided him with the strength he’d needed to drive her back to the city, no matter the risk to himself.

But it had been that same kiss that had ignited in him a want of her that went beyond physical need.

Four days ago he would never have considered turning himself over to authorities. And he would never have risked what he had last night by going to her place, the desire to see her so strong that he’d put both of their lives on the line. He’d been blinded by something that had made him push that danger aside if only to kiss her again. And it was that something that made him feel uncomfortable in his own skin now.

He loved her.

The realization didn’t come as a shock to him. While he hadn’t outwardly acknowledged it before, he supposed he’d been aware enough while it was happening. He’d probably fallen for her that first day at the cabin as she’d lain handcuffed to the bed in nothing but her slip looking like temptation incarnate. If not then, he’d certainly been far gone when he’d made love to her the first time. There had been something different about their coming together. Something more powerful than
he’d experienced before. Something that soured him against any other woman because that which he sought lay solely with Akela.

Of course, recognizing his feelings for her now did him no good at all. He faced what could be a lifetime in prison, if not death by lethal injection.

But above and beyond that, he hated that he’d brought trouble to Akela’s life.

He looked around his depressing surroundings. Thierry had warned him that he was heading for a fall. Little did his brother know that the fall that hurt the most was one that had nothing to do with his being in jail.

T
HE
NOPD
HAD BEEN
watching her house.

Akela paced down the length of the Eighth District station hall and back again, recalling the times she’d felt as if she was being watched, the times she’d written the sensation off as something coming from within rather than without, the times she’d thought Claude, himself, might have been watching her. Instead it had been an undercover officer with the NOPD.

And now Claude was in jail.

She finally spotted Alan Chevalier walking to his office and headed in the lead detective’s direction, battling back both guilt and indignation.

“What’s the deal with having me watched?” she demanded, entering his office behind him then slamming the door.

The rumpled homicide detective shrugged out of his overcoat and hung it on the back of his door.

“Interestingly enough, I was doing it for your safety.”

Akela crossed her arms.

“After you were taken hostage, I figured it would be a good idea to keep an eye on you, make sure you were safe.”

“No, you used me as bait.”

His barely concealed smile told her she was right. “And I caught a big one, didn’t I?”

“And you’ve made a big mistake.”

He checked some papers on his desk, then looked at her. “No, Agent Brooks, I’d say you’re the one who’s made the mistake.”

“Tell me this, Alan. What will the court of public opinion make of the evidence you chose to ignore in your one-track mission to pin this murder on Lafitte?”

“I didn’t have to pin anything on him. He did it.”

“Then you won’t have a problem with my going to the prosecutor with the information that Claire Laraway was having an affair with a married lover who obviously wasn’t happy with some
things she’d been doing—like talking to his wife, and sleeping with another man.”

Alan’s hands tightened on the back of his chair.

“Or how about the fact that there’s a key piece of evidence that doesn’t belong to either the victim or Lafitte that was found in the victim’s wound, possibly placed there on purpose?”

She didn’t miss his smirk. “Sex has made you go soft in the head, Brooks. What’s to say Lafitte didn’t plant that evidence himself?”

“Awfully premeditated for a crime of passion, isn’t it?”

Akela’s throat tightened as everything she’d been afraid would happen was unfolding right in front of her eyes. And there was nothing she could do to stop it.

“How long have you been meeting the suspect in private?”

“How long have you been watching me?”

He waved a hand. “Since you were set free.”

Oh, God…

“But only at night. We figured that was probably when Lafitte might make contact.” He opened then closed a drawer. “Besides, the department couldn’t afford more than that.”

Relief flooded Akela’s tense muscles.

He grinned at her. “From what I understand,
we got some interesting videotape last night, though.”

The relief vanished…and in its place came a thought.

“Where are you going?” Chevalier demanded.

She spared him a look. “You wouldn’t be interested because it has nothing to do with building a case against Lafitte.”

A
KELA STOOD
in the middle of the street where everything had begun six short days earlier: Bourbon Street in the French Quarter. In the exact spot where she’d literally bumped into Claude Lafitte. Before she’d known who he was. Before he’d become a suspect in Claire Laraway’s murder. Before he’d opened up a world to her she’d never known existed.

Her cell phone vibrated. She checked it to find Chevalier trying to reach her. She ignored him.

It was hard to remember they were working for the same team. Of course, Chevalier didn’t have the personal interest in the case that she did. And she understood that he believed Claude had seduced her toward the end of gaining her trust and faith. And, truth be told, a part of her wondered if that was, in fact, the case.

But as a trained federal agent, she’d learned to trust her gut instincts. And her instincts in this case
told her that Claude Lafitte was one hundred percent innocent of the crime of which he was accused.

A case of her heart ruling her head?

Perhaps.

But she’d operated so hard, for so long, with only her head that she had to give her heart—and Claude—a chance, no matter the consequences.

She walked a few steps, visually scanning the businesses around Hotel Josephine. She noticed the young owner was standing just outside the front door to her establishment, wearing a white linen dress that should have made her look plain, instead clinging to her curvy body in all the right places. She crossed her arms over her chest, watching Akela with hooded interest.

Her cell phone vibrated again. Out of habit, she checked it, expecting to see the detective trying to contact her again. Instead it was her mother.

She answered on the third ring.

“I cannot believe you brought a known fugitive—a murderer—into our house,” Patsy Brooks said in an even tone.

“Mother, I can’t talk to you now.”

“What do you want me to do, Akela Lynn? Schedule an appointment to speak with my own daughter?”

A car honked its horn. Akela stepped out of the
way to let it pass, her gaze continuing to take in her surroundings. “No, Mother, that’s not necessary.”

“Then do you mind explaining to me what happened here this morning?”

“What happened is that I’m a grown woman and I had a guest over.”

“A guest? Is that what they’re calling killers now?”

“Claude isn’t a killer.”

“According to whom? I knew the instant I saw him coming down the stairs who he was, Akela. He kidnapped you, for God’s sake! And you let him into our house. Allowed him contact with my granddaughter.”

Akela’s gaze settled on what she was looking for. Bingo.

“Don’t worry, Mother. Daisy and I will be moving out by month’s end.”

Silence. Then, “You can’t.”

“Why can’t I?” Akela asked as she stepped across the street from the Hotel Josephine, her gaze on something attached to the roof of a popular bar. “Look, Mother, you understood that I moved back not because of financial concerns—my job pays me well—but for issues having to do with family. And you said you didn’t have a problem with treating me like an adult.”

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. The first time I do something as an adult and you’re taking me to task for it.” She heaved a sigh. “Look, I really can’t have this conversation right now. I’ll talk to you when I get home.”

She disconnected the call just as a young man in a waiter’s uniform came out of the business she stood in front of.

“This camera,” she said, pointing to the object in question. “Is it running all the time?”

He nodded.

She flashed her ID. “Can you go get your boss for me, please?”

A
LAN
C
HEVALIER
sat back in his office chair, feet up on his desk, lighting a cigar from a box he kept reserved for special occasions. His co-workers were crowded into the small space and spilled out through the open door, talking about Lafitte’s arrest and the end to a case that had garnered the station more than a little unwanted attention.

Not to mention the attention Alan, himself, had gotten from his immediate superior, Captain Seymour Hodge, who had made it clear that if Alan didn’t catch the Quarter Killer, his fifteen-year career was dead.

He stared at the glowing end of his cigar, try
ing to recapture the triumph he’d felt when he’d slapped the handcuffs on Jean-Claude Lafitte’s wrists, but it eluded him; instead Akela Brooks’s accusations trailed through his mind.

He was aware of the trace evidence found on the victim pointing to a third person being in that hotel room. Was aware and had purposely ignored it in light of no other evidence pointing to another suspect. Was what she’d said true? Could Claire Laraway have been dating a married man and begun making life miserable for her lover?

He thought of the reason his job had been ceaselessly on the line for the past ten months, more specifically, the instant his superior’s estranged wife had let her husband know in a very public display of anger that she and Alan had had sex.

He better than anyone knew the ends a spurned or vengeful lover could go to in order to reap her revenge. Or, if Akela was right and the married man might have committed the crime,
his
revenge.

“Hey, Lieutenant, does this mean you’re going to have time to get your clothes pressed at the cleaners and buy a razor?” one of the junior detectives called out.

The room filled with laughter.

“Better yet, I think we should all chip in and buy him an iron.”

The men began taking dollar bills out of their pockets and flinging them at his desk.

Alan grinned and rocked back slightly in his chair.

The room suddenly fell silent. He saw why when Captain Seymour Hodge, District Commander, appeared in the middle of the sea of people that had parted.

“Chevalier. In my office. Now.”

Hodge left and Alan sat for a long moment, his co-workers’ uneasy attention on him. He puffed absently on his cigar, then let his feet drop to the floor.

“Uh-oh. Looks like more trouble in paradise,” one of the detectives said.

Nobody laughed at that crack as Alan snuffed out his cigar in an ashtray, then got to his feet. He had the feeling this wasn’t going to be pretty.

He got a flash of just how ugly things were going to get when he rapped on Hodge’s door then stepped inside the office to find Akela Brooks and the city prosecutor, Bill Grissom, standing alongside the stone-faced captain.