21

No way was Kit going to her phony Thibodaux address to change cars. With the heater on the governor’s loaner turned all the way up and the gas pedal flirting with the floorboard carpet, her trip home was hot and fast. Thankfully, no one behind her seemed to have the slightest interest in following her.

When Lucky came running as she entered the courtyard behind the gallery, she swept him into her arms and hugged him until he yelped. She put him down only when a few minutes later, in her apartment, she needed both hands to make coffee. To get it as quickly as possible, she put a mug instead of the pot on the Mr. Coffee hot plate. While waiting for the water to percolate through, she stripped off her lab coat, balled it up, and stuffed it in the kitchen wastebasket.

She couldn’t wait for her mug to fill, so she snatched it off the coffeemaker as soon as it contained something, replacing it with the pot so inexpertly, a small cascade of the dark brew hit the hot plate.

Sipping the coffee and warming her hands on the bottom of the mug, she roamed her apartment, which now didn’t seem as bad as she’d remembered, mostly because anyplace was better than the inside of that freezer. She even found a certain bizarre comfort in the two-by-four brace holding up the ceiling.

She drank two more full cups of coffee before turning to a job she faced with mixed feelings—talking to Tabor.

He called back promptly after her page.

“I screwed up. . . . I got the recorder placed, but someone saw me do it. They set me up so I had to work late and put something in the walk-in freezer. While I was in there, they wedged the door shut. I nearly froze to death.”

“You sound okay now. Are you hurt?”

“No. But you can forget the phone tap. Oh hell . . .”

“What?”

“When I left, I forgot to get the recorder that was in my locker. So I’ve lost both of them.”

“That doesn’t matter. The important thing is you got away safely. How’d you get out of the freezer?”

“I breathed on the temperature sensor until the alarm went off. Someone working late let me out.”

“That was good work.”

“I’m pleased with it. Sorry I let you down.”

“You did your best.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t blame you for what happened. It was just . . .”

“Slippage?”

“Exactly.”

At this point, Kit remembered something else she’d intended to pass along. “I don’t know if it means anything, but when I was tapping Woodley’s phone this afternoon, I saw in his appointment book he’s meeting someone at eight tonight in La Place.”

“Where in La Place?”

She gave him the address. “What will you do now?”

“From this point on, it’s my problem. You’re a civilian again. Is it possible anyone followed you home?”

“I checked, but I’m sure not.”

“I’m confident we took sufficient precautions to hide your identity, but just to be ultrasafe, you should continue to carry the Ladysmith. And if you go out at night, avoid deserted, poorly lit streets.”

“Am I going to have to join a witness protection program?”

“Like I said, they don’t even know who you are. And if they did, there’s no reason for them to believe you’ve witnessed anything.”

“But I should wear the gun and be careful where I walk.”

“Probably good advice even if none of this had happened. And of course, you won’t want to discuss this even with friends.”

“Loose lips sink ships.”

“Something like that. Don’t worry, we’ll get this unraveled and have those thugs under indictment before you know it.”

“Now I’ve alerted them, they’ll be more cautious.”

“That won’t save them. I’ll tell the governor you’re out of the picture. I’m sure he’ll want to thank you personally.”

“For lousing things up?”

“For being a good citizen. We’ll talk again soon.”

Then he hung up.

This conversation left Kit troubled. The part where Tabor released her was what she thought she wanted. But his suggestion she watch her step for a while put that in a different light. He’d said she was likely not in any further danger, but suppose that opinion, too, turned out to be slippage. The risk she’d assumed when she’d agreed to help was acceptable because the actions that would lead to risk could ultimately put an end to any long-term threat. Now she was facing a long-term risk and personally doing nothing about it.

How long would she have to wear the gun—a week . . . two weeks? Would she be jumping at shadows for a month . . . two months?”

She looked at her watch. Jesus, Woodley’s meeting in La Place would be getting under way in twenty minutes. And La Place was about eighty miles from Baton Rouge. There was no way Tabor could get there in time.

But she could.

The voice of reason kicked in, telling her it was nothing but a dinner party at a friend’s home, that even if it was a clandestine meeting where incriminating things would be said, there’d be no way she could hear it. This calmed her and she dropped into a chair to reflect.

Her thoughts quickly turned to the freezer and what a close call that had been. She had Rose Lewis to thank . . . and maybe Tom Ward. And who knows how many others. Woodley, to be sure . . . the warden at Angola and his brother at the funeral home . . . She relived her escape from her sinking car in Snake Bayou, feeling again the seat belt around her ankle as she fought to reach the surface. And Sheriff Hubly . . . so helpful . . . Bastards, one and all.

In the end, the accumulated sins of this villainous cadre pushed her over the line.