Voodoo or Die Read online

  Suddenly Zane came into view with his two officers, one pushing a bicycle, one leading a young man in handcuffs. Something about the man seemed familiar, but she didn't recognize him until he drew closer—draggy jeans, overlong shirt... Mark, the teenager who worked at Tam's Electronics.

  The little shit.

  She unlocked the door and scrambled out. Zane jerked his thumb toward Mark. "Know this kid?"

  "We've met," she said, crossing her arms and frowning at the surly-faced boy. "He works at the electronics store a few doors down from my office. His name is Mark."

  "He won't talk—was he friends with Chasen?"

  "They knew each other—he told me Steve had bought things there." But frankly, the kid seemed too... insignificant for Steve to have befriended enough to go into the blackmailing business with. Then a piece of the puzzle clicked into place, and she put her hand to her head. "The photocopier."

  "What?" Zane asked.

  "The photocopier in the law office was broken, so Steve used the one at the electronics store. I'll bet he left something there when he made a copy—a file, perhaps? More than one?"

  Mark pretended as if he didn't hear her, but she knew she was right. The notes he'd left attached to the cat's collar—he'd known from Steve's handwritten note that somehow Gloria Dalton was connected to L.L., and that had been enough to make her think he'd known more. And he'd probably used some kind of electronic device to activate her garage door opener and gain entrance to her house to leave the note on the cat's collar.

  Zane turned to face the young man. "Taking over a blackmailing business, I guess that's good enough motive for murder."

  That got Mark's attention. "Murder?"

  "Yeah, from the serial number on the poisoned candy bar, we know it was sold by one of the businesses in the shopping center."

  Gloria's head pivoted—that was news to her.

  Mark scoffed. "Every store in the shopping center sold those candy bars, dude."

  "Open those panniers," Zane directed the officer holding the bike, pointing to the storage compartments on either side of the bike.

  Mark bolted from the officer holding him and managed to run four or five steps before the man overtook him and slammed him facedown on the ground.

  "Looky here," the other officer said, removing cans of spray paint. "I think we found one of our vandals."

  Zane walked over to where the officer held Mark down. "If you know something about a body, you'd better be talking."

  The teenager looked defiant. "I want an attorney."

  Zane made a rueful noise. "We haven't even arrested you yet."

  "Chief."

  Gloria looked back to the officer by the bike. He'd opened the second pannier and was peering inside. He reached in carefully and removed a roll of drawstring garbage bags, exactly like the one her attacker had used.

  Her throat convulsed at the memory. "He was at the station yesterday," she said. "I saw him working on a piece of equipment."

  Zane fisted his hands, his expression lethal when he looked back to the teenager. "You're under arrest for extortion, murder, assault, vandalism, and arson—for starters. Now you can call your attorney. And if I were you, I'd be thinking about which one of my idiot friends I was going to rat out." He motioned for his men to take the youth away.

  Gloria stood shivering in the cold dawn, watching the young man being placed in the sedan, his body language pure defiance.

  "Let's get you home," Zane said, walking back to her car.

  Numb, she followed him and buckled herself in. "You said something back there about a body? Were you talking about the body in the fire?"

  He nodded. "The crime lab hasn't gotten back to us on their findings yet, but one of our theories is that when the cemetery was vandalized, a body was removed from one of the old graves."

  She winced. "Is that possible?"

  "Unfortunately, yes. Many bodies are buried aboveground here because the soil is so wet. But older graves are vulnerable to erosion and floods."

  "So you think a group of teenagers robbed a grave, put the body in Steve's house, and set it on fire?"

  "After they stole all of the equipment inside," Zane said. "A pawn dealer in the city responded to our bulletin about stolen electronics—said a couple of kids came in to unload some upmarket equipment still in the boxes. When we get the pictures of the sellers, I suspect one of them will be Mark."

  She shook her head. "I don't get it. Why would he attack me in the bathroom yesterday?"

  "Who knows? For the thrill of it? He probably felt invincible since he'd gotten away with so much already."

  She puffed out her cheeks in an exhale. "He seemed so... normal."

  He emitted a dry laugh. "Don't let that fool you about people."

  He radioed for his cruiser to be brought to her house, then they lapsed into silence as he pulled into her driveway.

  "Thank you," she said finally.

  "For what?"

  "For... everything. For protecting me and for putting that kid in jail where he belongs." She smiled. "And for trusting me, when I'd given you every reason not to."

  He gave her a flat smile. "Just doing my job."

  "You're very good at it. I'm so proud of what you're doing with your life, Zane."

  "Your disappearance had a lot to do with that. Looking for you is what made me decide to go into law enforcement, so I guess I should be thanking you."

  She smiled. "You're welcome."

  "So... do you want me to take you to New Orleans now?"

  "Actually, I've decided not to go."

  His eyebrows raised. "Not to go?"

  "Right. I'm tired of moving around, starting over. I actually like Mojo, with all its voodoo and eccentricities, and I've decided to stay."

  "But Steve's phone contact is still unaccounted fear—what if he's working with Riaz? You could still be in danger."

  She lifted her hands. "It's a risk I'm willing to take. I'm not leaving."

  He averted his glance, and a pained expression came over his face. Finally he looked back. "Look... Gloria... I don't think a relationship between us is going to work."

  "I know that," she said quietly. "And that's not why I'm staying."

  He pressed his lips together. "I need to get my head around the fact that Lorey—that you—are still alive. I've spent so much time looking for you, I think I became a little obsessed. And confused."

  "You don't have to explain, Zane. I don't want either of us to feel like we're simply trying to recapture the past. We're different people now."

  He nodded, his gray eyes remorseful. "I need to rethink some personal decisions in light of what's happened."

  A cruiser pulled up at the end of the driveway.

  "There's my ride," he said. "I'll let you know if you need to come down and make a statement."

  She nodded and watched him leave, wanting to run after him and convince him they could still be good together—Zane and Gloria this time. Not a relationship rooted in teenage yearning and sex, but a grown-up relationship that was unpredictable... bewildering... frustrating... volatile... problematic... erratic... crazy... magical... unexplainable...

  And rooted in great sex.

  But after he'd devoted so much of his life to finding her, she owed him his space to allocate that part of himself to another pursuit... to another person.

  And she could use some space herself to figure out in which direction she should expand her life first.

  So, instead of going after him, she pulled the car into the garage.

  Trying to focus on all the good things that had happened this morning—her personal epiphany being one of them—she walked into the house, feeling better about the future than she would have thought possible. She looked around at the packing boxes lining the walls and gave a little laugh. She couldn't put off unpacking any longer. She walked toward her bedroom, rolling her shoulders. The bruise was bothering her, her skin itching in a place she couldn't reach.

  F
eeling philosophical, she dug out her City of Mojo back scratcher and used it to find relief.

  Chapter 32

  Gloria smiled at the plain plate-glass window and the Lawyer Here sign as she unlocked the door to her office. She walked into the entryway and inhaled deeply. The smell of freedom.

  Her nose wrinkled. And drywall, paint, and carpet.

  But it was all good, she decided as she flipped on the coffeemaker and set down her things.

  She thought of Zane and smiled wistfully—not great, but good.

  A glance at her watch gave her pause. Diane was usually here by now. Maybe the woman had decided not to come in for just one day. She'd call her later to tell her that she'd decided to keep the law office open and ask if she'd like to stay on.

  The phone rang and she picked up the extension in her office. "Gloria Dalton, attorney-at-law."

  "Gloria—Daniel Guess here. What can you tell me about the arrest of Steve Chasen's murderer?"

  She frowned. "Nothing, I'm afraid, Mr. Guess. You'll have to talk to the police."

  "But I heard you were there."

  "Good-bye, Mr. Guess." She hung up the phone just as the bell sounded on the front door.

  Diane appeared in the doorway, her expression confused. "I saw your car in the parking lot. I thought you were leaving town."

  "I changed my mind," Gloria said with a smile, coming out to pour herself a cup of coffee. "Can I convince you to stay on for a while?"

  "Um, sure." But the woman still seemed uncertain.

  "Good." Gloria gave her an encouraging smile.

  "I missed you at Steve Chasen's memorial service."

  Remorse stabbed Gloria. "I hated to miss it, but... something came up."

  The bell on the door sounded again. A stout man whom Gloria recognized as the copier repairman stood there holding his black tool kit.

  "Hello, John," Diane said. "I wasn't expecting you back so soon."

  "The part came in," he said with a shrug.

  Gloria nodded hello, then returned to her office, closing the door behind her. Her window, her copier, her life—all seemed to be on the mend.

  She pulled a handful of client files in various stages of completion and rolled up her sleeves. But as soon as she opened the first folder, her cell phone rang. She sighed and retrieved it from her purse. The display read Private.

  She pushed the Connect button. "Hello?"

  "Gloria, it's George."

  "George," she said with a little laugh, "you're not going to talk me into relocating. I've made up my mind."

  "Don't talk, just listen." His voice was grim. "I don't know how much range I have on this phone. I just got a tip that someone in Mojo is working for Riaz."

  Fear seized her. "In Mojo? Who?"

  "It could be anyone, someone trying to get close to you, even a woman. And our source double-crossed us—we think whoever is after you might have been tipped off we know they're there."

  "Meaning?"

  "Leave now... police..."

  His voice petered out, then the connection dropped. But she'd gotten the gist of his message: Leave now and go to the police.

  With shaky hands, she grabbed her purse and was walking toward her office door when a knock sounded.

  Her heart catapulted to her throat. "Yes?"

  Diane's voice sounded on the other side. "Gloria, could you come out for a minute, please?"

  Gloria's mind raced. What had George said? The person could be someone trying to get close to her, even a woman? Her mind flashed back to all the personal questions Diane had asked about her family, where she was from, if she carried a gun... and then there was the arsenal of weapons the woman had at her home.

  My God, the person working for Riaz was right under her nose, trying to cozy up to her. But if George was right, and she'd been tipped off that the agents were on their way, her timeline would have accelerated.

  Gloria swallowed hard. Ergo the attack in the bathroom Saturday? After she'd told Diane she would be closing the office and leaving town?

  "Gloria? May I come in?"

  Terror paralyzed her. Earlier she'd been cavalier about coming face-to-face with someone who worked for Riaz, but now she was absolutely petrified.

  "Gloria?"

  She removed the .38 from her purse and turned off the safety, then, with her finger on the trigger, she stuck her hand back into her purse, the gun aiming straight ahead. Gathering all the internal strength she could muster, she opened the door, expecting to see a gun barrel leveled at her chest.

  Instead, Diane stood there with a form, smiling apologetically. "The repairman needs for you to sign this release."

  "It's so I can charge it to the warranty," he offered in a bored voice.

  Gloria breathed through her mouth, willing her pulse to slow. She eased off the trigger and withdrew her hand to take the pen Diane extended.

  Diane smiled. "Ms. Linder and Mr. Phelps are here as well."

  Gloria cut her gaze to Sheena and Cameron sitting in two of the new reception chairs. Sheena was preening, holding a Big Gulp in one hand and touching Cameron with the other. The man looked as if he was in pain.

  As Gloria signed the form, she glanced under her lashes at the copier repairman. Stout, athletic. Perspiration trickled down her back. She handed the form to him and waited, her heart pounding. He shoved the paper in his pocket, turned, and walked out the door whistling.

  Gloria exhaled in relief.

  Diane looked at her purse. "Were you leaving?"

  "Yes—I have to run an errand."

  "What about Ms. Linder—"

  "I'll be back shortly," Gloria cut in, eyeing Diane carefully. The woman had always conducted herself so shyly that Gloria had never gotten a good look into her eyes. They were... colorless. She'd wondered why someone who had been so persecuted would stay in Mojo; maybe it was a good cover for her... a good home base for her occupation.

  A hysterical laugh caught in her chest—welcome to Mojo, Louisiana, home to folks in the witness protection program and hired killers.

  "Oh, I'm so clumsy!" Sheena shrieked, holding out the front of her blouse, now soaked with cola. She leaned forward to give Cameron an up-close view. "Look what I've done to my shirt!"

  "We're looking," Diane muttered. "I'll help you with that," she said, tugging Sheena toward the bathroom.

  Cameron stood as Gloria stepped forward, a faint blush on his cheeks. "I got your message—my forms are ready?"

  "Yes. Unfortunately, I have to step out for a few minutes."

  "Sure. But I'll just take the forms if you have them. I need to get back to work."

  She hesitated, then nodded and turned to retrieve the envelope from the credenza. "Here you go."

  Cameron extended his hand, and it took her a few seconds to process the fact that he was holding a gun. Pointed in the general vicinity of her broken heart.

  Chapter 33

  "Don't say a word," Cameron Phelps said, holding the gun level, "and no one will get hurt."

  Gloria swallowed hard and tried to believe him.

  "Hands up."

  She obeyed, although her shoulder throbbed. He turned the dead bolt on the front door, then turned the sign to Closed. Then he shoved her toward the bathroom, where Diane and Sheena's voices could be heard over running water—Diane's low and soothing, Sheena's high and piercing. With his free hand, he turned the key in the lock, then used the butt of the gun to break off the key.

  "Hey!" Sheena yelled. "What the hell is going on out there?"

  "Gloria?" Diane asked, then the doorknob rattled. "Are you okay? Gloria?"

  "Shut up, both of you," Cameron yelled, "or I'll kill her!"

  Sheena yelped, then all was silent.

  Cameron looked back to her. "Let's make this quick, Lorey—where's your mother?"

  "I don't know," she whispered, wondering why someone with Cameron Phelps's credentials would work for someone like Riaz. Then it hit her. "You're not Cameron Phelps, are you?"


  He smiled meanly. "Nope. Nice guy though, hated to kill him."

  Bile backed up in her throat. The phantom body in the woods that Jimmy Scaggs had been ranting about? "How... how did you find me?" She hoped his ego would keep him talking.

  It did.

  "Friend of mine who knows what I do for a living said he was digging up dirt on some lawyer chick and found out she was in the program, thought I might find the information... useful." He smiled again. "I didn't, but Bernard Riaz sure as hell did. Now... where's your mother?"

  She shook her head. "I don't know, I haven't heard from her in years. And your friend is playing both sides—the U.S. marshals are on the way here," she said, getting braver. "Why do you think I was trying to leave?"

  He fired the gun into the wall behind her, and her courage went to hide behind her survival instinct.

  "Next time," he said, "I won't miss. Where's your mother?"

  "I don't know where my mother is," she said through clenched teeth. "It was you who set fire to Steve Chasen's house, wasn't it?"

  "Yeah," he said, looking smug. "My friend got panicky, thought there might be something inside that would lead back to him. I had a body to get rid of, so it killed two birds with one stone... so to speak."

  It occurred to her he wouldn't be telling her all of this if he expected her to walk out of there.

  He shoved the gun into her rib cage. "One more chance. Where is your mother?"

  Tears rolled down Gloria's cheeks. "I don't know where my mother is!" she shouted.

  His face screwed up, and she tensed for a bullet to tear through her body, wondering if Greg Goddard would have to hire mourners to fill up the pews at her funeral.

  "Stop!" Diane yelled from the other side of the door. "I'm here! Tell Riaz I'm here!"

  Gloria froze. What?

  Confusion crossed the man's face.

  Then a terrific explosion of glass sounded and his body jerked, blood spurting from his neck. He fell hard, his gun sliding across the floor. Gloria screamed, scrambling backward. A kick to the front door splintered it, then it flew open. Zane stormed inside, his expression hard as he glanced at the man's still body.

  She had never been so glad to see anyone in her life.