Secrets & Lies Read online

  I check to see who's online, and grin when I see a familiar name. We've only met a few times in person, but it's good to see Darcy around cyberspace, or BlakDhal1A as she's known in hacker circles.

  BlakDhal1A- Hey kid. How's the studying?

  Blue Sakura- Not bad. Bored tonight. I hate biz law.

  BD- That's just because you know how easy it is to break it.

  BS- LOL. True. Hey, did you hear? The Black Man's back in town.

  BD- You know I hate it when you call him that.

  BS- Yeah, but that's why I do it.

  BD- I know. But yeah, I know about Nathan. He's been back a while, keeping it really DL. Jeff actually met face to face with him.

  BS- And you're not a widow?

  BD- LOL. Nah, Jeff went unofficially, not on NOPD time. He did say that Nathan was, quote, unsettling.

  BS- He's got that effect. You heard from Kat recently?

  BD- She and Jackson are doing well, I heard. So is little Andrea.

  BS- I still geek out over that.

  BD- I know. Still, u OK? I mean, you seem pretty lonely. We haven't even met for beignets in what, six months?

  BS- Yeah, just before Kat gave birth. I'm a bit lonely, but I'm getting along. Just gotta finish this degree, and see that Peter DLC is put away for life. Jackson and Kat started it, but I want to see it through before I can move on.

  BD- I gotcha. Keep your head down, kid.

  BS- Stop calling me kid! I'm 21. I can drink legally and everything!

  BD- Well, sometime maybe let's get together and you can prove it to me.

  BS- We'll see. All right, back to contract law!

  BD- Yay. TC, Andrea.

  BS- You too, Darce.

  I close the window and think about what to do next when thunder rumbles, and I grin. While I think there were still idiots partying on Bourbon Street when Hurricane Katrina rolled through town, the rain does at least kind of keep the crowds down, and I've always loved the sound of the rain.

  “Fine, I'll try and actually study,” I grumble to the heavens, reaching for my textbook. Before I can get started again though, there's a knock on my apartment door, which surprises me. I'm in a tiny third floor walk-up, and even Jehovah's Witnesses don't bother making their way up my narrow staircase. The last person to come up these stairs was my landlord two months ago when I asked him to take a look at a wonky light switch. Being in a location that's not so accessible affords me a lot of privacy. I welcome that, but it also means I'm isolated, and while maybe isolation's not what I want, at least it's safe. And safety is very important when you've got a father like Peter DeLaCoeur.

  I go over to the door, picking up the baseball bat I've got stashed behind it just in case, and look through the peephole. What I see surprises me so much that I drop my bat, yanking the door open quickly. “Oniichan!”

  I grab my half-brother in a tight hug. It's been over a year since we've seen each other in person, our contact limited to photos we've sent each other and the occasional video chat. Even though there's only a two year age difference between us, we weren't particularly close growing up. When I made up my mind to see our father brought to justice for his crimes, I hadn't factored Jackson into my plans. We irritated each other more than we bonded as siblings, and I'd never thought Jackson would be someone I could rely upon. But once Katrina was back in his life, he proved me wrong, and we bonded quickly over our shared disdain for Peter DeLaCoeur. I love my brother dearly.

  “Hey Andrea,” Jackson says, hugging me back and lifting me off the floor in the process. He's still big, easily a hundred and ninety pounds, but he's slimmed down some, lost some of that bodybuilder muscle that he used to carry all the time. The difference now is that Jackson is carrying around a lot of lean muscle, and his frame reflects that. He doesn't look like a gym rat anymore, but he doesn't look soft or weak either. “It's so good to see you.”

  “And you,” I groan slightly when he squeezes me tight before setting me down. “Mercy...”

  Katrina shakes her head when she hears me call her by her alias and closes the door behind her as she cradles a tiny little bundle in her arms. “Only in business, Andrea. Say hello to your niece.”

  Katrina turns the bundle toward me and my heart melts. Andrea Hart is just a few months old, and as she stares at me with her big blue DeLaCoeur eyes, she blinks at me solemnly, like she recognizes something about me, but isn't sure what. “She's beautiful, Katrina. Absolutely amazing. It's... it's so good to see you guys!”

  Katrina hands Andrea off to Jackson before hugging me, giving me a squeeze that's nearly as rib-crushing as her husband's. Seriously, how does a woman who's five ten and only a buck twenty-five have the strength to squeeze like that? “Ouch, you're gonna break something!” I protest.

  Katrina laughs and lets go, patting me on the head. “So you're stopping the oneechan stuff, then?”

  I grin and shake my head. Jackson and Katrina are the only people I've ever considered family, and the terms are my way of demonstrating both my respect and affection. But they like to tease me for using them on occasion. “Never. But what are you guys doing here? Jackson, you dropped off the face of the earth so hard I would have lost you if it hadn't been for Baby Girl here. I mean, after everything went down at the house, I figured it'd be a while longer before we all saw each other again. At least until Peter's safely locked away and his associates aren't looking to take our heads.”

  “Actually, that's why we decided to come here,” Jackson says, patting his daughter on the back. Andrea yawns and closes her eyes, and I'm reminded she's only a few months old, and that for her, sunset is close to bedtime. “We had another member from our strange little group track us down the other day.”

  “Oh? I heard Nathan was back in town. I was just talking about it with Darcy online, actually.” I realize that the three of us are still standing in what I guess you can call my entrance area, and wave them deeper into my apartment. Well, if you can call it deeper, since the place is small enough that you could throw a paper airplane across the entire space without it touching the ground. Not that I need the space. I've never had anyone up here socially, not even any of the handful of people I can count as study buddies. We always meet at a coffee shop or in the university library. “So he found you guys?”

  “He did,” Katrina says as she takes a seat on my dining room chair that triples as my spare chair and desk chair. Jackson sits on my tiny loveseat, setting baby Andrea in her bundle blanket on the cushion beside him, where she rolls into the junction of the front and back and promptly starts snoring. With no other options except my bed, which is currently folded away, I sit down on the floor in the lotus position, still somewhat shell-shocked. “He came by our dojo just a few days ago. Actually...”

  There's another knock on the door just as the thunder rolls again ominously. I look from the door to Katrina, arching an eyebrow. “You're kidding me.”

  “Nope. He asked us to smooth the way first, that's all. Go say hi, it's going to rain in about five minutes,” Jackson says, giving me a smile. “He's okay, Andrea. Seriously. Besides, weren't you two buddies back at the house?”

  I chuckle and get up, heading to the door. “Jackson, neither he nor I had any friends at the house, at least not until the last month or two,” I say over my shoulder. I kick my home security baseball bat and pick it up, putting it back in its corner before opening my door again. “Hello, Nathan.”

  Growing up, I was scared silly of Nathan Black. Because unlike Jackson, I actually knew early on who Nathan was, and what he was capable of. Even after working together to put my father behind bars, I still feel a little bit of an inner chill as the former Green Beret with the watery green eyes and grave expression comes in, dressed in his ever-present black linen suit. “Andrea. It's been a long time. You look well.”

  “Thanks. Come in, you can have any of a wide array of luxury seats,” I wisecrack as he steps inside. “As you can see, you have your choice of any corner on the floor you w
ish.”

  Nathan chuckles, his voice sounding like gravel and marbles rubbing together. He crosses the room to take a seat in front of baby Andrea, and I realize with only a little bit of surprise that he's protecting her. “That has to be the most well-protected baby in the entire state of Louisiana,” I remark.

  “There is a reason for that,” Nathan says quietly while I take a seat. “Your father is getting out of jail.”

  “What?! Get the fu... sorry Kat, I guess you don't want Andrea to hear that,” I quickly apologize, still shocked. Katrina shrugs, but nods gratefully. “He's getting out of jail? How?”

  “The judge threw out some of the evidence related to one of his charges, so the state's case is dead in the water,” Katrina says with a shake of her head. “The federal charges still apply, but the judge already granted bail on that. It was a technicality at the time, since he was already being held on state charges, and it kept him inside the state to make the trials easier, but now...”

  “Now he's getting out,” I groan, lying back on the floor hard enough to bonk my head on the thin carpet. “Ouch.”

  “Andrea, Nathan found you quickly once he contacted us,” Jackson says from his seat on the couch. “You've probably been safe here until now since you registered at school under your mother’s name, but let's face it, Peter DeLaCoeur is not stupid enough to not know who Andrea Mori is. From there, it isn't all that hard to track you back to this place.”

  I sigh, nodding. “And you think he's coming after us.”

  “I know he is,” Nathan rumbles. “He has already contacted me about finding you three.”

  “And why the hell did he do that?” I ask, covering my mouth again. “Sorry.”

  “She's sleeping, relax,” Jackson chuckles. “Be yourself, Andi.”

  “Thanks. So Nathan, why did Peter contact you?”

  Nathan rumbles again, then looks over at Katrina and Jackson, who nod in support. “Well, as you know, after the last day at the mansion I had fully intended to start making things right. And while I did rectify some things, I kept getting pulled back here. Part of it, Andrea, is that most of the evil I did working for Peter was here in the New Orleans area, or at least along the Gulf Coast. But also, my promise to make sure Peter is neutralized is not finished. So I came back, and started reaching out to some of the former family associates. I was laying the groundwork to continue to take down the network from the inside when Peter reached out to me from behind bars. He wants blood.”

  “He thinks that Nathan's still loyal to him,” Jackson says, patting Nathan's shoulder. “Seems our Special Forces man here was so good at his deception that he was never even suspected of working with us. So...”

  “So I have decided to become a mole,” Nathan finishes for Jackson, smiling a bit. It takes ten years off his face, and he already looks younger than his age. Seriously, the man could pass for thirty-five if he wants, maybe even thirty in good lighting. “It seems the best way to protect everyone.”

  “Except you,” I note, and Nathan nods. I'm not that surprised by it, I know Nathan feels an honor debt that he's more than willing to shed his own blood for. But regardless of whatever debts he feels he owes the world, or karma, or whatever, he owes us nothing. He protected us and helped us when it was needed. “And what about you two, Katrina? You're being very quiet.”

  “The dojo's underground,” Katrina reassures me with a small smile. “We can evaporate into thin air without too much of a problem. Everything we do is cash and carry, or bartered. The money you hooked Jackson up with is mostly still in a numbered account, although a different one. You're the vulnerable one.”

  I nod, knowing it's the truth. I should have run from town a while ago. I should have liquidated that bag of gems by now, and used that money to move on with my life. But... I want that piece of paper that says I've finished my degree, dammit! Sure, it's nothing but useless ego bullshit, but it's my ego. “I see. I understand what you guys are saying, so what...”

  My words are cut off as my phone rings over on the table, and Katrina looks down at the caller ID. “Local number,” she says, picking up my phone. “Want me to answer?”

  “Who is it?”

  She shrugs. “Not listed on here. Just a local number.”

  I nod, and Katrina hits the pickup button, holding my phone to her ear. Her voice drops to a sultry tone that would melt butter in Alaska, and I give Jackson a glance, who nods, grinning. “She uses it for me, too. She's got some other ones too, just as good.”

  “Lucky.”

  “Shh...” Nathan urges us, pointing. I look at Katrina, who's nodding and talking with the other person.

  “I see. So you say your name is Sands, right? Well tell me, Mr. Sands, if you're Andrea's brother, could you explain the last name for me?”

  I blink, stunned, and look over at Jackson, who also looks shocked. “Did she just say 'brother'?”

  Jackson nods, his face somewhat slack with surprise. I guess it's universal to hear about a potential sibling you know nothing about and look stupid for a few seconds. “Yeah. Hey, she's looking at you.”

  I look back at Katrina, who's waving me over. “Yes, of course, Mr. Sands. Why, I've got Andrea right here. Let me put her on. Much obliged to you, too.”

  Katrina holds out the phone, her eyebrow arched. “He says his name is Carson Sands. He says that he's... kind of your brother.”

  Chapter 2

  Carson

  The house is eerily quiet when I pull up in my truck, but I'm used to that. It's near two in the afternoon, and Melissa is normally out in the barn at this time of day. The barn's out around back, so the lack of noise makes sense. Even though Paradis only has a population of about twelve hundred people, for Melissa Sands, most of the time that's about eleven hundred and ninety-eight too many.

  I get out of my truck, a three-year-old Ford F150 crew cab and make my way across the area that Uncle Trent used to call the dooryard. Uncle Trent was certainly the country uncle of the family, and in a lot of ways he was a cruel bastard, but he raised Melissa and me properly after... after what happened.

  My Ted Baker shoes crunch in the dirt and gravel of the yard as I walk toward the barn, listening for the distinct sounds of Melissa at work. There's nothing though except the cicadas and the soft hum of the vent fan. I'd insisted on installing the fan after Melissa nearly had heatstroke after working too hard in there about four years ago. Artists seem to forget about everything else once they get focused on something. If I didn't come home at night and make sure she eats, I'm not sure she'd remember to eat. And she'd probably be in worse shape than she is…

  Still, I have to earn a living to support us somehow, not that she doesn't help. By selling her art throughout the series of galleries that I've been able to build up from my inheritance, we live well, if simply. Actually, we could live much better than we do, but Melissa is most at home in the simple country lifestyle. While I wish I could get her to be better around people, at least she doesn't insist on a place that's ten miles from everywhere. The galleries still require time and effort, even if I've turned as much of the day-to-day operations over to the individual gallery managers that I can.

  All of this runs through my mind as I reach the big doors of the barn, pulling them open and letting in some more light. “'Lissa? Hey sis, you in here?”

  “Here,” a quiet voice says from the shadows off to my left, and I leave the doors open to let in a little bit more light as I go inside. Melissa's in the old cow stall, and even before I kneel down in front of her, I can see that she's having a bad day. She only ever takes out Mr. Trumbull, her teddy bear, when she's having a very bad day. “Hi.”

  “What happened, 'Lissa?” I ask, kneeling down and taking Mr. Trumbull out of her hands and setting him on his shelf that's a little above where Melissa is sitting. Taking her by the hands, I help her up off the hay that I keep in the barn just for this purpose, and wrap my sister in a hug. “Did another group of middle school boys throw things at th
e house?”

  “No,” she replies, her voice sounding better already with the physical contact. She doesn't allow anyone else to touch her most of the time, but since we've been a team since she was seven and I was two years old, she considers me safe. And I have to admit, I love being able to hug my big sister since she's just as important to me as I am to her. “He was on the television.”

  Oh hell, I hadn't thought of that. This morning before I left for work, I'd watched some news, and when I turned off the television before leaving, I'd forgotten to change the channel to something safe like sports or the Disney Channel. Today was an even more idiotic time to forget to change the channel. I'd seen on the news this morning that Peter DeLaCoeur was possibly getting released on bail. When the biggest crime story in years hits with an already assigned nickname like “The Don of the Delta,” I knew the press would have a field day.

  Melissa must have seen the news at some point, probably at noon when she normally comes in for some lunch. She's in her coveralls and work boots, and I can see the welding stuff set up. She's been working on a new experimental piece, a grouping of angels and people in steel and copper. I don't know if her welds would hold up to structural standards, but my sister can certainly create some fine art in metals, and the piece is coming together well.

  “It's okay, 'Lissa,” I reassure her. “You're safe, he's still in jail. Come on, tell me about how your work went this morning.”

  Talking about work is safe, and watching her transform from the timid, insecure and scared woman I found in the corner of the barn to the confident artist who creates some of the best metal sculptures in the entire world is remarkable to me. It happens periodically given her triggers, but it still always amazes me. We talk for nearly an hour about what she's working on, and how she's trying to bring the copper and steel together to create a dichotomy between the angels and the people in her piece. She's an accomplished painter as well, but I really love her sculpture more. It's dynamic, it's alive, and it tugs your mind in new directions constantly.