Chapter Thirty-Five

“Think this is some trick to pull us away from something bigger?” Claire asked.

“I’ve been wrong so much lately that I’m not even going to guess.” Shelby studied the people around Cain and didn’t spot a viable threat. Cain sat totally alone near the rail in Café du Monde, resembling any other tourist. “I’ve only seen Cain like this one other time—the first time she saw Emma after she got back to town.”

“After seeing them last night, I’d say that they’ve solved their problems. You’re dying to go over there and talk to her, aren’t you?”

“I may want to, but I’ve broken more than my share of procedures when it comes to Cain Casey. Eventually all that could catch up with me.”

Claire shut off the camera they had trained on Cain drinking coffee. “Why don’t you take a break?” She pointed to the camera. “We seem to be having technical difficulties.”

“Thanks, Claire.”

The noise of the French Quarter increased when Shelby opened the door and climbed out of the van that sported a local plumbing company’s logo. Noticing Emma approach the café from the direction of downtown, headed for Cain’s table, Shelby stopped abruptly after stepping off the curb. Plans forgotten, she calmly returned to their air-conditioned haven, took the headphones from Claire, and waited for the conversation across the street to begin.

“Want to talk about it?”

Cain shook her head and ran her finger around the rim of the generic white mug. A plate full of the powdered beignets the place was famous for sat untouched next to the mug.

“Just felt like a cup of coffee, huh?”

“Something like that.” Cain finally picked up the cup again and took a sip. “This place is a tradition for me, and God knows more than one tradition has shaped my life.” She cut her eyes briefly to the van across the street and wondered who, in addition to Shelby, was listening in.

“This place is mine alone, not like the club and the bar. I used to come here early some mornings after leaving the pub or after dropping you off to people-watch. Your apartment wasn’t far from here.” She pointed down the alley across the street. “Trying to figure out what was going on with them helped me sort out what was going on in here.” Cain tapped the side of her head.

“I can go,” Emma said.

Cain grasped Emma’s wrist. “Not yet. Are you here alone?”

“Same as you, so no lectures, okay?”

“Sometimes, lass, no matter how much you think we’re alike, we’re not. My being out here alone isn’t the same.”

Emma jerked her arm away, and her upper body slammed into the back of the chair. “I thought we’d come to an understanding.”

“What, that I’d give everyone in the world who’s pissed at me a free shot at you?”

“No, that you would let me in.” Emma put her hands flat on the table. “That you’d treat me like I’m something more than an ornament for your arm for nights like last night.”

Cain widened her eyes slightly, and Emma stopped talking.

“I can’t talk about something I don’t know anything about. I can’t lead you into something I don’t know a way out of myself. Do you understand me?”

“No.”

“Then this is what we call putting your chips down. If you don’t understand, then you have to trust me to guide you until you do. Do you trust me that much?”

“Yes,” Emma said without hesitation. “I don’t want to destroy the trust we’ve built up since I’ve been back, but I don’t want to be shut out of part of your life like I was before.”

Before Cain made any more declarations, she pulled her phone out of her jacket pocket and dialed her uncle’s number, getting Lou. “Café Du Monde, and make it fast. Merrick’s package seems to have walked out the door without her. After the dressing-room incident I’d have thought she’d have been a little more vigilant.”

“You promised,” Emma said in a dejected tone. “And I believed you.”

Not wanting to draw any attention to them, Cain grasped the seat of Emma’s chair and pulled her closer. “I said a lot of things, but so did you.” The pain in Emma’s eyes was almost enough to shatter her resolve, but Cain kept going. “Now listen to me and believe me when I tell you this isn’t the time or the place to talk about this.”

“But, Cain—”

Cain took advantage of this opening line. “I’m tired of talking about this, Emma.” With another quick tug Cain yanked Emma’s chair across the sticky cement, bringing her wife even nearer. The rest of the talk was so low the microphone trained on them couldn’t pick up what they said.

Shelby and Claire watched as Emma pushed away and stood up, then almost ran out of the café, dodging a few cars as she crossed the street and started down the alley next to Jackson Square. She made it almost to the end close to St. Louis Cathedral before Cain grasped her bicep firmly and whispered in Emma’s ear again, not letting her go when she tried to break free.

“Our job is to observe, that’s all,” Claire warned when Shelby put her hand on the door.

“Cain’s a lot bigger than she is, and it looks like Emma doesn’t want to be part of this talk anymore.” The sound of a slap echoed in the van, and a stunned Cain stood on the flagstone looking like her next victim would be Emma.

They didn’t exchange any more words until a black sedan pulled to the intersection and Lou climbed out from the backseat. With one last glare for Cain, Emma started toward Lou and the car. She never looked back once she started walking, but neither did Cain when she set off in the opposite direction.

“Joe, you got her in sight?” Claire asked as she started the van.

“Our target’s entering the cathedral. Maybe she’s going to confess her sins and decide to lead a life on the straight and narrow?” Joe and Lionel watched from a park bench in Jackson Square, confident that the black iron fence and shrubbery would keep Cain from seeing them. “Stay put for now, and I’ll let you know where we’re headed next. Lionel and I are going inside.”

“Just remember that she knows you.” Shelby’s voice popped into the conversation.

“Don’t worry. We look like tourists today. She’ll never spot us.” He walked across the grassy area around St. Louis Cathedral that was usually full of artists, street performers, and tourists.

To their surprise, Cain walked toward for one of the confessionals at the rear of the church. They knew she was Catholic; they just assumed she wasn’t a practicing Catholic. The light on the side Cain had entered lit up, signaling that she was now on her knees waiting for the priest.

“Wouldn’t you love to be able to listen in on that conversation?” Lionel asked.

“It wouldn’t be admissible in court, but for pure entertainment value, yeah, I would. Thing is, though, I’m not sure what to make of this.” Joe waved his hand around the vestibule. “We’ve been following her for so long, I thought I knew everything there is to know about her. But today something’s off, and I can’t pin it down. Being out alone, rare but not strange.” Joe held up a finger as if counting off a list. “The fight and this, though, way off the radar as far as previous behavior goes.”

A nun close to them put her finger to her lips and smiled, softening the reprimand.

Inside the confessional a wooden door slid back, and a million memories flooded Cain’s mind as she looked at the man on the other side of the grate. Father Andrew Goodman had graduated from high school with Cain’s father, and despite the different paths the men had chosen, Andrew had remained a good friend.

For years he’d joked that Dalton needed a friend with such high connections to keep him out of trouble. After burying Dalton, his wife, and two of their children, Andrew had stopped joking and started praying for Cain and her family.

“Are there blessings left for the wicked, Father?”

A small laugh escaped Andrew’s lips as he leaned farther in. “God doesn’t see us as wicked, my child. He loves you no matter how bad you think you’ve been.” He put his hand up to the barrier between them. “It’s good to see I still have some influence over you. Thanks for taking me up on my invitation.”

“I thought I’d come in from the storm for a little while, and you’re always a good harbor.” Cain pressed her hand to his and felt the heat through the decorative wooden grate.

“It’s raining outside?”

“More like invaders at my gates ready to storm the manor.”

“You’re early and I still have confessions to hear, so will you do me a favor? One that’ll make your mother happy.”

“Sure.” Cain was amused.

“Go out there and say five Hail Marys and five Our Fathers while you wait for me. If you can spare the time, I’d like to have morning tea with you.”

“I’ll try anything to make my mother smile down on me from heaven,” Cain joked. “Of course if you hear a sudden boom in the next few minutes, you know I got struck by lightning.”

The prayers came with no effort since Cain’s mother had repeated them from the time her children were learning to talk so they would have the starting point to talk to God that every good Catholic had. Cain didn’t think of them very often now, but she wasn’t completely faithless. A part of her wanted to believe in a heaven and a hell, even if that’s where she would one day find herself—as long as those who’d hurt her loved ones suffered along with her.

Joe and Lionel were shocked when they saw Cain genuflecting before the altar. She scooted into a pew, pulled the kneeler down, and folded her hands together in prayer once she was on her knees. From their position on the other side of the church, they could see that her lips were moving in obvious prayer. Her behavior was certainly new and interesting.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14