The Night He Died Read online

  The Night He Died

  The Cage Foster Series, Volume 2

  Stacy Green

  Published by Stacy Green, 2019.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  THE NIGHT HE DIED

  First edition. February 21, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 Stacy Green.

  Written by Stacy Green.

  The Night He Died

  The Cage Foster Series

  by

  Stacy Green

  The Night He Died

  Copyright © 2019 Stacy Green.

  Nook Edition

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without express written permission from the publisher. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Visit the author website:

  stacygreenauthor.com

  Sign up for Stacy’s mailing list to hear about new releases, contests and more!

  “Stacy Green writes suspense like a pro. You’ll be captivated from the first page to the end of this harrowing story. Don’t forget to breathe!”

  Diane Capri, New York Times Bestselling Author of The Justice Series and The Hunt For Reacher Series.

  Other Books by Stacy Green

  THE LIES WE BURY

  (Book One in the Cage Foster Series)

  TIN GOD

  (Book One in the Delta Crossroads Trilogy)

  2013 Kindle Book Review Best Indie Book Award Finalist for Best Mystery/Thriller

  SKELETON’S KEY

  (Book Two in the Delta Crossroads Trilogy)

  ASHES and BONE

  (Book Three in the Delta Crossroads Trilogy)

  LIVING VICTIM

  (Book One in the Delta Detectives Series)

  DEAD WRONG

  (Book Two in the Delta Detectives Series)

  NIGHT TERROR

  (Book Three in the Delta Detectives Series)

  LAST WORDS

  (Book Four in the Delta Detectives Series)

  SHOTS FIRED

  (Book Five in the Delta Detectives Series)

  DEAD WAIT

  (Book Six in the Delta Detectives Series)

  HEAR NO LIES

  (Prequel to the Lucy Kendall Series)

  ALL GOOD DEEDS

  (Book One in the Lucy Kendall Series)

  SEE THEM RUN

  (Book Two in the Lucy Kendall Series)

  GONE TO DIE

  (Book Three in the Lucy Kendall Series)

  ALL FALL DOWN

  (Book Four in the Lucy Kendall Series)

  KILLING JANE

  (An Erin Prince Thriller)

  INTO THE DEVIL’S UNDERGROUND

  WELCOME TO LAS VEGAS

  TWISTED MINDS

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Praise for Stacy Green

  Other Books by Stacy Green

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Books by Stacy

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  “We have to distrust each other. It is our only defense against betrayal.”

  —Tennessee Williams.

  1

  We shouldn’t be here.

  The words pelted Trish as she lagged behind her friends. Her toes stung with cold from the water seeping through her cheap shoes. The smoke from Kyle’s joint burned her eyes.

  “Come on.” Zoey zigzagged between graves with ease, confident as always. “It’s up here.”

  Lightning crackled across the clouds, followed by rolling thunder. “The storm’s getting closer.”

  “That’s why we need to hurry,” Zoey said.

  Kyle puffed away, kneeling to examine a bright pink headstone. “RIP Tyler Jones. Twelve years is not enough.”

  “Holt Cemetery’s been the poor people’s place since the late 1800s,” Zoey said. “The families do it themselves—that’s why all the graves are unique.”

  “But they use coffins, right?” Trish asked. “And a vault?”

  “Wooden coffins. They decompose and the plots can be reused.” Zoey sounded like a tour guide. Couldn’t she see how sad this place was? Not to mention dangerous with all that yuck seeping into the ground.

  Zoey and Kyle moved on, smoke wafting behind them. Shoes slipping in the wet grass, Trish hurried to catch up. She lost her balance, landing hard in the wet dirt.

  Did she fall on a grave? How deep was the body? Did she piss off someone’s spirit so badly it would follow her home?

  “Be careful.” Zoey hauled her up. “You’ll stir up the spirits.”

  “You believe in that shit?” Kyle snickered.

  Nasty cemetery water soaked through Trish’s knees and elbows, making her twice as cold.

  “Every local knows how powerful this place is. You don’t play around.” Zoey brushed the soggy dirt off Trish’s clothes. “Graveyard dirt from Holt is potent. Make sure you wash those clothes right away.”

  “How can dirt be powerful?”

  “This place is mostly African Americans, so plenty of powerful voodooists are buried here. Their spirits give Holt’s ground its magic.”

  Zoey might be cool with hanging out in a haunted, bad mojo-infested cemetery, but Trish wanted to get home, dump her clothes in the trash and take a scalding shower. “What are we looking for?”

  “The big live oak in the center. It’s another part of Holt’s power. I need some of the Spanish moss. We should be pretty close.”

  Kyle blew a ringlet of smoke into Trish’s face. “What’s a tree got to do with magic?”

  “Oak is loaded with magical power. Get a spirit board made from oak, and you’re guaranteed contact if you know what you’re doing.”

  “Like a Ouija board?” A fat droplet of rain hit Trish’s forehead.

  “Not the cheap things you buy at the store,” Zoey said. “A real spirit board, made by someone who knows what they’re doing.”

>   Lightning cracked the night sky, illuminating a hulking thing with tentacles twisting in every direction. Scattered raindrops turned into a fine mist, and ghostly Spanish moss streamed from the mass of sweeping, crooked branches.

  Trish shivered. “Is that it?”

  “No other one like it in the city and probably the entire South.” Zoey jogged ahead.

  “Stupid rain.” Kyle relit his joint.

  You shouldn’t be here.

  Trish whipped around. It seemed like they’d walked a long way from the entrance, but Holt wasn’t very big.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “What?” Kyle’s hand hovered over the weed. “All I hear is thunder. Come on.”

  He walked toward the oak, dragging his feet through the wet grass.

  Trish’s feet remained rooted to the ground. White noise attacked her brain.

  Something darted along the fence line at the front of the cemetery. Had they pissed off a spirit?

  She tried to find her voice, but her jaw had locked.

  “Holy shit.” Kyle’s shaky voice sent chills through her. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Trish didn’t hear Zoey’s response.

  Pop!

  “Was that a gunshot?”

  Zoey’s fingernails digging into Trish’s arm broke the stupor. “Run!”

  2

  Cage’s legs ached as he raced through the muggy darkness, sweat pooling beneath his collar.

  Find cover and call for backup.

  He scaled the chain-link fence and hit the ground running. Shin splints slowed his momentum. He ducked behind the first parked car, panting.

  Two of the parking lot’s security lights had died, leaving plenty of dark to be afraid of. Bright flashes of lightning circled the skyline. He swallowed the tightness in his throat and peeked around the bumper. The breeze cooled his steaming face. He hit the button on his phone—no signal.

  Stupid, shitty cell phone company. Dead spots every time he turned around. He risked another glance across the lot—had Spider given up?

  A bullet-shaped man sauntered into view, handgun on his hip. Cage jerked back behind the car. Tonight had been a disaster. What happened to Bonin?

  In and out, she’d said. Taking down one of the biggest opioid runners in the city before thousands arrived for Mardi Gras.

  Spider no doubt had his boys looking for Cage. If he stepped into the open and ordered the gun down, ten more might pop out from the shadows.

  The gunman paced thirty or so steps to Cage’s side of the building, turned around and walked back out of view to the other side. Cage counted forty-two seconds before he came back around. Cage was at least six inches taller and thirty pounds lighter than the guy. A head start might give him a chance.

  Fat, lazy raindrops hit his face. “Guess I’d rather die running than hiding like a wimp.”

  He reached into his pocket and felt the gris-gris bag Bonin had given him when he first arrived in New Orleans. “If any loa are hanging around, I could use some serious good luck right now.”

  Cage started counting. The shooter ambled out of view, and Cage sprinted away. He almost wiped out in the dirt on the other side of the parking lot and then whipped left, air sawing through his lungs.

  Cage cut onto the side street, desperate for cover. He skidded to a stop at a locked black gate. New Orleans and its goddamn cemeteries. Climbing over would take too much time. He yanked his pistol out of his ankle holster.

  His eardrums exploded and then went silent.

  Pain erupted between Cage’s shoulders, velocity propelling him headfirst into the metal gate. Blinding pain surged through his skull. His rubbery legs folded, and the gun fell through the bars, gravel and bits of sand biting his shaking hands.

  Cage leaned against the cool metal. Every muscle above his waist ached, the bullet’s impact echoing down his spine and around his ribs with each breath.

  He tasted blood, but the stars disrupting his vision slowly dissipated.

  “Turn around.” Spider’s voice seemed to come through a funnel.

  Could Spider see the gun lying inside the gate? The sky flashed again, and twenty feet inside the cemetery, a white face peeked around one of the few big headstones, then disappeared.

  “Turn around, or I’ll blow the back of your head off.”

  “Killing a cop is the biggest mistake you could ever make.”

  “Not on the street. No one messing with me after this.”

  The face peeked around again, cell phone to her ear.

  She’s calling the police.

  She vanished behind the headstone.

  Spider kicked Cage’s feet. “Turn the fuck around, man.”

  Spider hadn’t seen her.

  Police sirens wailed, but Cage’s ears rang too much to gauge the distance.

  “I’m not playin’. Turn around. I like seeing people’s faces when I kill them.” Fear leaked into Spider’s voice.

  They’re close. I just need to buy some time.

  A guy like Spider would choose pride over common sense every time.

  “How’d you make me? I don’t look like a cop.” Cage extended his arm through the gate, pointing away from the girl’s hiding place.

  “You think some shitty-looking clothes is all it takes?”

  “Don’t forget the holey shoes.” He dropped his arm, his elbow smacking the iron.

  “It ain’t about the outfit. It’s the presentation, the pretty boy face.”

  “You screwed up my shoulder.” Cage’s fingers grazed the gun and inched it through the gate, praying Spider couldn’t see it.

  “You ain’t feelin’ anything in a minute.”

  The sweet music of screaming sirens closed in.

  “Last chance to face me like a man.”

  Three rapid-fire thuds came from the cemetery like heavy rocks bashing against stone.

  “The fuck was that?”

  Cage turned and fired. Spider’s shoulder snapped back with the impact, and he stared at the blood seeping through his white shirt. “Motherfucker.”

  “Drop it.”

  “You drop it.” Spider stepped closer, the muzzle two feet from Cage’s face.

  Pain seized Cage’s back and traveled down his extended arm. “I will shoot you.”

  “You already did. Police brutality.” Spider steadied his grip against the stabbing pain.

  Red lights glowed in the parking lot Cage had fled. Spider spun around and started running. A patrol car shot out from the parking lot and cut Spider off. The car screeched to a stop, front tires riding on the sidewalk. Another black and white rushed down the street toward them.

  “Drop the weapon and put your hands up!” The uniformed officers hunkered behind their open cruiser doors.

  Cage lowered his gun and struggled to raise his hands against the spasms lashing down his back.

  The driver pointed to Spider. “Drop it now.”

  “I need a doctor.” Spider spat at the female officer edging around the cruiser.

  Sergeant stripes decorated the driver’s uniform. He snapped cuffs on Spider.

  “You were going to murder a cop,” Cage said. “No one cares about your shoulder.”

  “You’re a cop?” The sergeant stared him down.

  “Badge is inside my vest. Can I reach for it?”

  “Slowly.”

  Cage worked the badge out of the tight kevlar, the effort bringing a fresh round of misery. “Special Agent Cage Foster, LBI.”

  “Great.” The sergeant relaxed and shot a knowing look at the others. The LBI’s experimental Criminal Investigative Assist Unit to aid the NOPD with major crimes had few fans among the patrol cops. Cage’s being from Mississippi pissed them off even more. Many had grown up in New Orleans’s rougher neighborhoods, and nearly all endured Katrina. He was an outsider yet to earn respect.

  Cage got to his feet and tried to roll his shoulders and stretch, but the restrictive vest and throbbing muscles refused to cooperate.

&n
bsp; “I ain’t going to jail,” Spider said. “Not until my arm’s fixed. I know my rights.”

  “You’re going to be charged with attempted murder of a cop,” Cage said. “That’s a lot worse than drug trafficking, especially when you’re essentially just the middleman.”

  No chance a guy like Spider would rat out his boss. With all the hell that broke loose tonight, Spider’s crew likely fled, taking their product somewhere safe.

  Hate laced Spider’s eyes. “Big mistake, man.”

  “Won’t be the first time.” Cage tried to hide a wave of dizziness and extended his hand to the officer. “Sergeant Brady. Thanks for getting here so quickly.”

  Brady grunted, and Cage cursed the word choice. NOPD’s lousy response times made headlines nearly every week, along with emergency services. The city never seemed to have the money to hire enough people. NOPD had to choose between having enough patrol cops and filling the short-staffed major crimes unit. Cage’s new division was a direct result of the issue, doubling the chips on the NOPD’s shoulders.

  “Woman called to report a body dump,” Brady said. “Then she starts telling dispatch someone’s about to be executed in front of the cemetery.”

  Cage gritted his teeth as he followed Brady over the chest-high gate. He pointed to one of the few large, granite stones. “She’s behind there.”

  “Come on out,” Brady said. “Hands up.”

  A skinny guy with a joint stuck behind his ear skulked out first, followed by a stout dark-haired girl who looked ready to pass out, and a redhead he instantly recognized. She’d stuck her neck out for him—literally—when she’d peeked around the headstone and called the police.

  The guy stared at him with bloodshot eyes. “Dude. That was awesome.”

  “You all right?” The slender redhead grabbed the other girl’s hand, pulling her around their awestruck friend.

  “I’ll live,” Cage said. “Probably thanks to you.”

  “Getting that gun took serious balls,” she said. “Most men I know would have curled up and begged for their life.”