Page 5 of Creole Kingpin
I rise, wishing Señor Sycamore from downstairs had let me bring my purse. But as soon as I have that thought, V lifts a hand, and I see the red leather strap dangling from his fingertips.
Fucking creepy how they read my goddamned mind.
There’s a knock on the door through which I entered the room only minutes ago.
Mount meets my gaze. “That’s my next appointment. Have a good one, Magnolia.”
The unease that’s followed me all day ramps up again as I walk toward the hidden passage. As soon as I step through it, the fireplace slowly spins. I turn toward V, but one sentence stops me cold.
No. Not the words.The voice.
Deep and rich with a hint of Creole flavor.
“You’re a right hard man to find, Mount.”
I whip around to stare through the crack that’s narrowing with every passing second and catch a glimpse of those eyes that have haunted me for fifteen years.
“It’s been a long time, Moses. Welcome back to New Orleans. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Three
Magnolia
Oh. My. God.
What in the actual fuck is happening right now?
Moses Gaspard didnotjust walk into Mount’s office behind me.Did he?
My breath catches, and my heart rate kicks up like I’ve just sprinted a hundred flights of stairs. I turn to stare at V with my mouth hanging open from the shock. “Did I just ... Was he ...”
V watches me like he’s not certain what I’m about to do. That’s fine, because I sure as hell don’t know.
Even though the man rarely speaks, I point at the fireplace and ask, “Did you just see him? Did you? Tell me I’m not crazy right now.”
V’s gaze flicks to the fireplace and then back to my face, and I wait for him to give me a sign that I’m not hallucinating. He gives me a short nod as he hands me my purse.
“Jesus fucking Christ. What in God’s name is going on here?”
V doesn’t answer that question, but the little nod he gave me before was plenty.
Moses is back.
The memory of the eyes I thought I saw in the Quarter on my way here resurfaces.Did I enter another dimension when I woke up this morning? How is this happeningnow?
Because Moses Gaspard left New Orleans a decade and a half ago and never looked back. Never called. Never wrote. Never kept the promises he made to me.
So, why the hell is he here now? And meeting with Mount?
V moves through the room, signaling with an arm that I should follow him, but my brain is scattered like broken Mardi Gras beads left in the gutters on Bourbon Street after a night of partying.
What is happening right now?
He grunts at me, clearly impatient with my lack of response to his gesture, but too damn bad. The man doesn’t understand that my past just crashed into my present with the subtlety of a Mack truck slamming into a brick wall at full speed.
“Give me a minute, okay? Jesus.”
He emits a low growl as I gather myself, glaring at the fucking fireplace. Goddamn Mount and all his hidey-holes and secret passages. I’m tempted to beat at that thing until I figure out how to open it back up and get the answers I’m owed.
