The Lies We Bury Read online

  I can’t do that anymore.

  Cage dangles a bottle of water in front of me. I take it and drink slowly. I still can’t look at him. I bet his wife is beautiful too. And not all shades of screwed-up and dirty like me.

  I take the white doll out of my bag. She has no answer for me. Neither does the torn Tarot card.

  Had Lyric lured me too? I pictured her approaching us at the lake, beautiful and mysterious. Maybe she offered to sell us pot and tricked us into meeting him.

  Did she watch while he raped me? Did she do anything to stop him?

  Anger goes off like a bomb in my head. I crumple the card in my hand and stumble to my feet. I’m screaming in English and Creole. My hands beat against something solid and warm. It smells like sandalwood.

  Cage.

  My fists pound against him until he gently grabs my wrists and holds me in place. I drop my head to his chest and bawl.

  43

  Cage tried to wake up as he followed Bonin into the downtown major crime offices. He needed a shower and sleep, but they had to debrief his boss and figure out what to do next.

  At least Annabeth had slept for the duration of the drive. He and Bonin didn’t discuss the details Sheila had given them or the way Cage held onto Annabeth while she cried. What else was he supposed to do?

  “Sheila was different.” Cage lowered his voice as they walked into the lobby. “No disaster as a distraction. Not as organized.”

  “She escaped and could have identified him,” Bonin said. “So he changes things up, starts being more strategic.”

  Dani had been right about letting Annabeth take care of herself, but the kid was lost right now. Cage was responsible for her. He couldn’t just stand around while she broke down.

  Annabeth halted, and Cage nearly slammed into her.

  “Shit.”

  The Georges waited in the lobby, Sam talking animatedly to the desk sergeant.

  Krista had the sense to respect her personal space, but Sam strode forward as soon as he saw his daughter. “We allowed her to go to Texas with you. We’d like to take her home now.”

  Exhaustion shredded Cage’s patience. “This has been discussed. She doesn’t want to go to Roselea, and after your stupid stunt with the media, it’s not safe for her.”

  “Are you accusing me of getting the news in on this?”

  Cage shrugged. “Who else would be ignorant enough to think they’d benefit from it?”

  Sam stepped into Cage’s space and jabbed his finger into his chest. “You have a lot of nerve.”

  Bonin stepped forward, but Cage shook his head.

  “So do you, putting your hands on a cop,” Cage said. “I’ll give you five seconds to back up.”

  “Sam.” His wife’s voice was strained. “Please don’t get arrested.”

  He backed off but lingered close enough to land a punch. Cage glared back, daring the older man. He was done being compassionate. This fool was too caught up in his own misery to see the stress he’d caused his daughter.

  “I didn’t speak to the media,” Sam said. “The NOPD and the LBI need to get their act together before I contact my lawyer.”

  “Just stop.” Annabeth’s voice surprised them all. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.”

  “You look exhausted,” her mother said. “What happened in Jasper?”

  Annabeth’s jaw went taut. She shook her head.

  “Can we take you to dinner?” Krista asked. “There’s a little diner just a block away.”

  “That’s not safe. We have to assume he’s already in town.” Cage doubted it, but Annabeth twitched in panic.

  Krista’s hopeful smile turned to disappointment. “Of course.”

  Annabeth stared at her mother, a mixture of compassion and confusion on her face. Finally, she sighed. “I am hungry. Order me a pizza, and we can hang out here if it’s cool with mustache over there.” She waved at the desk sergeant. “But don’t expect a heart-to-heart.”

  “You sure?’ Cage asked her. “This has been a hell of a day.”

  “I’ll call you if they piss me off.” She gave him a strained smile. “And I’m starving, for real. Pepperoni, Mrs. George, please.”

  Agent Rogers’s voice crackled over the speakerphone. “You think that second body will turn out to be Lyric Gaudet?”

  “Most likely,” Cage said. “We’re waiting on the official ID, but Metz discovered a pin in the arm from an old break. She’s trying to get the serial number off it—metal’s pretty rusted. But we’ll see.”

  Johnny Dietz had been officially identified. Mickie would be next, likely by morning. Cage drained the stale coffee and tried to get comfortable. He’d eventually have his own office at major crimes—if he didn’t lose his job first. For now, he was stuck with a folding chair in Bonin’s cluttered cubicle.

  “This Agent Tims—she’s looking for her big break,” Rogers said. “I can’t stop her from taking the case.”

  “All due respect, sir, I want to keep working it,” Cage said. “She has no compassion for Annabeth, and we need her to stay on our side. The kid’s been through enough.” Annabeth’s parents had been waiting when they arrived. He’d been leery of leaving her alone with them. She looked ready to crack. But she was also hungry and reluctantly agreed to hang out in the lobby with them if they ordered her a pizza and didn’t expect her to talk. The desk sergeant promised he’d keep an eye on things, and Cage reassured her that he could check on her via the lobby’s security cameras. He glanced at the video feed on Bonin’s computer. Annabeth was currently sitting several feet from her parents, waiting for her pizza.

  “Let the FBI deal with her,” Rogers said. “This case is a dead end that’ll end up costing us a lot of money and time with no results—not to mention the bad press.”

  “We’re closer than you think,” Cage said. “And Agent Tims is only thinking about herself.”

  “Go home, Foster. Finish packing and get moved in. Start fresh with the LBI.”

  Bonin shook her head, lips pressed together.

  “Annabeth trusts us,” Cage said. “I can’t just hand her over—”

  “Not your problem anymore. It’s over.”

  Bonin held up her hands in defeat and stomped out of the room. The door slammed behind her.

  Cage couldn’t walk away now. Especially if Tims had the case. She’d shove Annabeth aside while she focused on getting the glory. “I’d like to push my start date back a month, sir. I need more time to get ready.”

  “Christ, Foster. Does this case mean that much to you?”

  “That’s not what I’m asking.”

  “Don’t play me. I’m done with that dance. This new division isn’t just about you. My ass is on the line, and we’ve established a launch with my director. Full media coverage. I can’t reschedule just because you have white knight syndrome.”

  “It’s about being a hero. It’s about doing the right thing and putting the victim first. Isn’t that why you hired me?”

  “I hired you because I wanted someone with a stellar record and integrity to make my department a success.”

  “Same thing,” Cage said.

  Rogers sighed. “God, you’re a stubborn bastard.”

  “You aren’t the first person to say that.” He waited, thoughts spinning. How far could he push Rogers?

  “Think of it this way, sir. If I don’t catch this guy, I look like a fool. I’m operating on my own. But if I can bring him in and close this case, that’s a huge win for the new Criminal Investigative Division. And you, of course.”

  Rogers didn’t answer right away. Flop sweat trickled down Cage’s forehead, stinging his eyes. “The FBI expects me to hand everything over to Agent Tims.”

  Cage slammed his fist on the desk and hoped Rogers heard.

  “I’ll tell them I can’t reach you. You’re following a lead and ignoring me.”

  “Thank you—”

  “We never had this conversation,” Rogers said. “Don’t expect t
his to buy you more than a day or two.”

  Cage’s pulse sprinted as he ended the call. He slipped his hand into his right pocket for the gris gris bag Bonin had made him. He’d never hear the end of it if she knew he actually carried it around, but he needed some serious luck in the next twenty-four hours.

  The door swung open, and Bonin leaned inside. “Is it over, then?”

  “Not yet. But don’t expect to get any sleep tonight.”

  44

  Oh my God, why did I agree to this? When will the pizza get here?

  Krista’s sitting a few feet away and telling me how I used to be a track star with scholarship offers from division one schools. Apparently, that’s a big deal for a small-town kid.

  My grades were excellent too. I had it all, until I didn’t.

  I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but hearing how great I used to be isn’t exactly an ego boost.

  “What about my horse? Does he miss me?”

  Her eyes light up. “You remember Charlie?”

  “Cage told me about him.”

  “Right.” She messes with her wedding ring. “Charlie died a couple of years ago. He was an old horse.”

  This shouldn’t upset me. But it’s the final chunk of sliding rock that starts a landslide. Tears well in my eyes. I rub them, disgusted. I don’t cry. I yell and throw things. But I’m so tired, and my head feels like it’s swollen and dumb.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” Krista says. “I know how much you loved him.”

  “I don’t.” The words spew from my mouth. “Why can’t you get that through your head? I don’t remember. I don’t remember Charlie, or you, or him.” I’m horrible, but it’s like I’m split in half—part mean, part shameful. The mean side usually triumphs.

  Sam is staring at me. I bet he doesn’t have it in him to love the daughter he’s stuck with now. “You may not remember her, but you will not talk to your mother that way.”

  “Whatever Dad.”

  “Have you stopped to think about how much your mom and I are suffering? Seven years not knowing if you were dead or alive, and then we find out you don’t even remember us. You have no idea how much we’ve gone through.”

  “And you can’t imagine what I’ve gone through.”

  “Neither can you,” he shot back. “So that’s a lousy excuse.”

  I want to hit him. I’m out of the chair and only a foot away from him when I see my mother’s frightened eyes. I dig in my bag for the torn Tarot card and pray for Ezili to keep me calm and give me strength.

  Sam steps closer, disgust on his face. His breath smells like one of the bars on Bourbon.

  I have to get away from him. And Krista. I can’t take her tears right now. I’ve already scouted the lobby. The restrooms are on the other side, not far from the exit.

  “I need to pee.” I glance at the security camera. Cage said he’d be watching, so I wave and point in the direction of the bathroom.

  As soon as I’m—hopefully—off camera, I start sprinting. I’m pretty sure my legs aren’t as fast as they used to be, but they move well enough. I skirt around people on the sidewalk, but I’m not familiar with this part of town. Where do I go?

  I hear Sam shouting behind me.

  A yellow cab is sitting at the stoplight a block away. I run harder, dashing past the woman and little kid I’m pretty sure had hailed the cab.

  I fall into the backseat and lock the door. “Go! My dad’s a maniac!”

  Sam’s big hands slam against my window, and he’s screaming.

  The cabbie locks the other doors and peels off into traffic.

  When I finally get the nerve to look back, I see Sam doubled-over, his hands on his knees.

  And Cage running toward him.

  I turn away before I can see the disappointment on his face.

  45

  Cage and Bonin hopped out of the car as the Georges squealed to a stop behind them. “Let me do the talking,” Cage said. “She trusts me.”

  Bonin had berated the cab company into telling her Annabeth’s cab had dropped her off near Canal Street. She’d likely hopped on the streetcar that would take her within walking distance to Alexandrine’s house.

  By the time they navigated through the evening traffic and the chaotic French Quarter, Annabeth had at least a thirty-minute head start. Twilight had given away to a clouded, dark sky.

  Cage doubted she’d gone to Alexandrine’s—she knew the Quarter well enough to easily disappear.

  Damn her. She knew better.

  “We’re her parents,” Sam said.

  “Not in this new life.” Cage would have slapped cuffs on Sam and left him at the police station if Bonin had let him. His beer breath and red eyes confirmed the long-whispered rumor that he’d become a drunk after his daughter disappeared. Cage might have felt sorry for him if Annabeth hadn’t taken off. “If we don’t find her soon, she’ll be in danger. Thanks to you.”

  Krista grabbed her husband’s arm before he could say anything. “Just let them do their jobs, please.”

  The small cottage was mostly dark, but a light shined from one of the back windows. “Don’t just go bursting in. Alexandrine might be with a client.”

  “Client for what?” Krista George asked.

  “Miss Alexandrine is a Voodoo priestess,” Bonin said. “People from all over the city come to her for help.”

  “Is that the mumbo jumbo she was muttering?” Sam asked. “This woman taught her?”

  “Charlotte Gaudet taught her,” Bonin said. “She was also a priestess.”

  “Blasphemous,” Sam said. “She’s forgotten God. That woman knew Annabeth wasn’t her granddaughter. How dare she teach her black magic?”

  “That woman,” Bonin said, “took care of your daughter through the worst times in her life. And Voodoo is steeped with Catholicism. God is very important.”

  “She kept her from us!”

  “She didn’t know her real identity,” Cage said. “And she kept her survival a secret from her kidnapper. Too bad you couldn’t do the same.”

  “I did not speak to the press,” Sam said.

  A sudden wind cut through the stillness but did nothing to lessen the humid night air. Coldness grew in the pit of his stomach. Static electricity swarmed around him, but he hadn’t touched anything. The breeze faded away, but Cage could have sworn …

  “Did you say something?”

  Bonin shook her head and banged on the door again.

  The static electricity turned to a spark of unease. “You know where she keeps an extra key?”

  “I doubt she does,” Bonin said. “Too risky for a woman living alone, especially around here.”

  Cage peeked between the curtains of the nearest window. The front room appeared normal, but he saw no sign of either woman. He caught the scent of a strong, musky perfume that wasn’t Bonin’s. It made his eyes water.

  Go to the back.

  The iron gate protecting the narrow alley between Alexandrine’s cottage and her neighbor clanged in the wind.

  “She’d never leave that unlocked.”

  Cage was already ahead of Bonin, running down the alley and into the tiny courtyard of sweet-smelling plants.

  The back door opened easily.

  “Sonofabitch.”

  Miss Alexandrine lay crumpled against the wall in her narrow hallway, shards of glass littered around her.

  Cage rushed to the woman’s side, sidestepping the broken glass and gagging on the same musky scent he’d noticed outside. The bottle of heady oil had toppled off the built-in shelf, coating the other bits and pieces that had fallen.

  He tried to block out the scent and checked Alexandrine’s pulse. “Her pulse is steady, and she’s breathing. It looks like she passed out.”

  “Low blood sugar.” Bonin raced back to the kitchen and quickly returned with a paring knife and a red onion. She sliced the onion in half and stuck it under Alexandrine’s nose. “My brother used to faint as a kid. Mama always got him back up with
a good, strong red onion.”

  “Lord.” Miss Alexandrine’s trembling hand shoved the onion away. “Get that thing out of my face, Myra.” She tried to sit up straight and swayed.

  Cage gently took her arm. “Easy.”

  “Eat.” Bonin handed her a candy bar.

  Alexandrine slowly chewed, her eyes still glazed. Cage snagged a towel from the kitchen and started wiping up the stinking oil. The built-in shelf contained an altar, and the oil had soaked part of the red velvet lining the bottom. “You’re going to need some adhesive remover to get the oil out of this wood.”

  The priestess reached for a small statue of an African woman cradling a bright red heart with a sword running through it. The statue’s painted toenails peeked from underneath her blue dress. A book of matches and a painted card with the same sword through the heart design and a busted red candle were scattered around her.

  “My offerings.”

  “You must have been praying when you passed out.” Bonin carefully picked up the statue and sat it back on the alter.

  “That’s the same as Lyric’s Tarot card,” Cage said.

  “Ezili Dantò,” Alexandrine said. “One of my Mét Tét.”

  “Master of the Head,” Bonin clarified. “Like a guardian angel.”

  Cage nodded, his throat tasting like he’d swallowed the perfume. “I can’t believe how strong that stuff is even with a window open. You’ll never fully get it out of the woodwork.”

  “No window open in August,” Alexandrine said. “The air’s running.”

  “Well, the stench of this stuff leaked outside then,” Cage said.

  The priestess’s eyes brightened, and a soft smile played on her lips. “You smelled it outside because Ezili Dantò knew I needed help. She was guiding you.”

  “Right.” Cage checked the back of her head. A good-sized lump had already bloomed, but her coloring was almost back to normal. “You should keep better track of your blood sugar. Next time you could really get hurt.”