A Father's Duty. Joanna Wayne
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he was just a truck driver.
GEORGETTE FOLLOWED Tanner Harrison down the hall, already feeling an unexplained shudder of apprehension, though so far the images of the blond woman hadn’t returned. He opened an office door about midway down the hall.
“We can talk in here.”
She stepped past him and into a room that, unlike Tanner, was warm and welcoming. There was a highly polished conference table in the middle of the room, surrounded by large wooden chairs with padded leather seats. Framed black-and-white prints of New Orleans landmarks hung on three walls, and a table beneath a row of windows held a coffeepot and white mugs.
“Would you like some coffee?” Tanner asked. “Or I can get you a soda if you’d rather have that.”
“No thanks.” She set her handbag on the table and slid onto one of the chairs. “Crescent City Transports must be a new company. I haven’t heard of them before.”
“We’re new and successful, but I’m assuming you’re not here because you want something transported.”
“No. I have a few questions about the woman you found beaten in the French Quarter.”
“I told you all I know.”
“Could you tell me again how you found her?”
“I stumbled over her like I said. She needed help. I called for an ambulance.”
“I visited the crime scene. It was through a narrow, gated passage between two brick buildings. Seems as if it would be difficult to stumble that far off the street.”
“I heard moaning and checked it out.”
“Most people wouldn’t have in that section of town. They might have called and reported it to the cops, but they wouldn’t have gone down a dark passageway on their own.”
“Guess I’m not like most people then.”
“You said you were looking for someone. Who?”
“I’d hoped to hook up with some friends in the Quarter that night. I didn’t, so I was walking back to my car. End of story.”
“The problem, Tanner, is that this isn’t the beginning or the end of the story. May I call you Tanner?”
“Sure, Georgette. Call me whatever you like. It won’t alter the fact that I’ve told you all I know. Now why isn’t that the end of the story?”
“The woman you found isn’t the first prostitute to die this way.”
“Newspaper this morning said she was number five.”
“At least. Five young women who should still be alive. We have to stop this needless killing, so if you know anything at all, please share it with me.”
“I wouldn’t have any reason not to tell you.”
Unless he was involved in this. She looked into his eyes. They were gray, cold and daunting. Tanner slid into the chair next to hers and her throat constricted, making it difficult to swallow. Even without the images, the man had a disturbing effect on her.
“You want to tell me why you’re really here?” he asked.
“I just did.”
“You’re not a cop. You’re a lawyer, and I’m not involved in one of your cases.”
“Then why do you think I’m here, Tanner?”
“You think I had something to do with the beating, and that if you keep harassing me I’ll blurt out the truth. But since you’re not a cop, I guess you’re just looking to pick up a big case and acquire some clout. Best of luck with that, but you’re still wasting your time with me.”
“This isn’t about clout. It’s about underage girls being sucked into a life of prostitution and being killed if they try to leave.”
“If you know that much,” he said, “why don’t you and the NOPD go in and shut down the operation? You surely know that mob boss Jerome Senegal and his second-in-command Maurice Gaspard are behind all of this.”
“Whatever information we have is privileged at this point.”
“Sure and you’d tell me, but then you’d have to kill me.” He leaned closer and something inside her head clicked on, releasing a rush of adrenaline and an out-of-breath feeling, as if she’d been running.
“If you attorneys with the D.A.’s office are so gung ho on getting the bad guys off the streets, quit throwing out the cases and take more of them to trial.”
“Everyone is innocent until proven guilty. We can’t take people to court without sufficient evidence to warrant it.”
“Well, you’re not going to find any evidence here, and I’ve got to get back to work.”
Just as well. Although she felt strong, disturbing vibes around Tanner, the images she’d expected hadn’t returned and she was getting nowhere with her questions. She opened her leather briefcase, took out her business card and laid it on the table between them. “If you think of anything else, please call me.”
“Nothing else to think of.”
Only he didn’t get up to leave. Instead, he picked up her card and studied it as if it were a puzzle he was trying to solve. “I guess you’ve questioned a lot of prostitutes,” he said.
“A few.”
“They must be running scared these days what with the attacks.”
“Some are.”
“What do they do when they get scared? Do they band together? Leave town? Have someone who helps hide them?”
“It varies.”
His questions suggested more than casual interest and reinforced Georgette’s original fears about Tanner. His gaze bored into hers, and the intense scrutiny stirred confusing emotions.
“I appreciate you taking time to talk with me,” she said, standing and extending her hand.
He took it, and she felt a rush of warmth, followed by needling prickles along her fingertips. The images of the young blond woman returned, full force, pushing reality aside.
Perspiration rolled down Georgette’s forehead and mud squished between her toes. There was nothing but endless swamp in front of her and the air was so fetid, it made her nauseous.
She reached out for something to hold on to as her knees buckled and she started to slide into the murky water, but all she caught hold of was the open briefcase which crashed to the floor at her feet.
“Hey, don’t faint on me.”
The voice sounded as if it were coming from a long way off. Finally, the images began to evaporate, leaving Georgette shaken, but aware that Tanner had an arm around her shoulder and was holding her steady.
She jerked away. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to be sorry, but you need to see a doctor.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You damn sure don’t look it, and you totally blacked out for a few seconds there.”
She raked her hair back from her face and took a couple of deep breaths. The images had faded, but the fear hadn’t let go of her. Fear so intense it was palpable, but it didn’t belong to Georgette. It belonged to a young woman. The same woman as she’d seen in the psychic visions the other night, but her hands and feet were no longer tied, and this time she was running through a swamp.
“Let me get you a soda,” Tanner said, already stooping to gather the papers that had apparently slipped from her briefcase.
“Thanks.” That would buy her some time. Besides, her throat was so dry she could barely swallow. Tanner was definitely involved with the