They’d wondered at the beginning of their attraction if they could make it as a couple and as a working team. Now she found herself wondering about it all over again.
They weren’t really arguing, she told herself. They were just having a difference of opinion.
She had to stop thinking about him and the situation. She really did need to sleep, if only for a few hours. Tomorrow would be a very long day.
But when she lay down, her eyes were stubbornly wide open and sleep was far away.
*
Over on Magazine, the Midnight Royale Café was far busier than usual for a Sunday night.
A local organization had chosen the café for their monthly get-together, and apparently none of them remembered that Monday was a workday.
Quinn chafed at being there. At first it had seemed logical, given that Jenny had been attacked.
But now he doubted there was any further need for him to protect Jenny and Brad. The killer had already taken whatever he’d wanted from them. Quinn knew Jenny wanted him around, felt reassured by his presence, but he felt strongly that he needed to be back at La Porte Rouge—where Arnie Watson had played his last set.
Danni had messaged him earlier with the flight info and a link to his boarding pass. Despite the current chill between them, he intended to be on that plane.
On a normal Sunday night they would have finished by two; they might have even been packed up and ready to go. But the members of the group were in a party mood, and bars that were hopping were loath to close down, and Quinn really couldn’t blame them. It was after three when the band announced they were on their last number, and even then, the bartender wanted them to keep going.
Quinn was helping with the equipment when his phone vibrated in his pocket.
At that hour he instantly felt his heart beat too hard, his muscles tighten.
Danni.
But he caught the caller ID as he answered and realized it wasn’t Danni, it was Larue.
“Quinn,” he answered tersely.
“You need to join me in Treme,” Larue told him.
“What happened?”
“You beat the bullet by the skin of your teeth,” Larue said. “I’m at the Watson house. Someone’s been here. The place has been trashed.”
“I’ll be there as quickly as I can,” Quinn said. He’d driven, but he had Brad and Jenny with him, and the band was still coiling amp cords and securing the system. “Can you send a patrol car for me? I’m at the Midnight Royale Café on Magazine.”
“Give my man five minutes,” Larue said and rang off.
Quinn hurried over to Brad with his keys. “Listen, I have to meet Larue ASAP. Here are the keys to the car. Go straight to the house once you leave here. I’m willing to bet someone is waiting up.”
Jenny stepped up to him, her eyes wide with concern. “What’s going on? Oh, God, is someone else dead? Quinn, how can you leave now? What about us?”
“As far as I know, no one else is dead. There’s just a...situation.”
“But—” Jenny began.
“Brad, you’re armed, right?” Quinn asked.
Brad nodded. “And it’s legal. I have a concealed carry permit, but even if I didn’t, with everything that’s going on...”
“We’re almost ready to go,” Jenny said. “If you just drop us off, you’ll have your car and—”
“Jenny, have some faith in Brad,” Quinn said. “You’re going to be all right.”
He didn’t wait for her to respond, just turned and hurried outside. Magazine was almost empty at this hour. Even their rowdy crowd had quickly dispersed. While he waited for the squad car, he pulled out his phone then hesitated. If Danni was sleeping, he didn’t want to wake her. She could use some rest before getting on the plane.
He sent Billie a quick text message, telling him that he was fine, no one was dead, and he was heading out to meet Larue about a “situation.” Of course, anyone who was still up would know he was with Larue as soon as Brad and Jenny got home, but he figured a message was always a good thing.
The patrol car arrived just as he finished texting.
“Thanks,” Quinn said, hopping in.
“Nicest assignment I’ve had in a while,” the young officer driving told him. He looked over quickly and flushed in embarrassment. “I was on patrol in the area. I rode by the Watson house every fifteen or twenty minutes. The guy got in and tore the place apart without me ever seeing a thing.”
“How did you find out he’d been there?”
“In addition to the drive-bys, a patrolman was doing a walk-around once an hour. He saw that the back door was open.” The officer shook his head in self-disgust. “I got sloppy, too predictable in my drive-bys. He must have waited for me to pass, and then he went in. The place is... Well, you’ll see.” He was quiet for a long moment. “Thank God no one was home.”