A young woman’s body had been pulled from the Mississippi River in Plaquemine Parish. She’d been identified as Simone Billings, a prostitute who’d been listed by her friends as missing a month ago.
…her blood will be on your hands.
Isabella’s warning echoed in Georgette’s mind as a new plan formed in her mind. Swerving into a U-turn, she headed toward Tchoupitoulas Street and another visit with Tanner Harrison.
Chapter Four
Tanner had spent half the night searching for leads, and he was bone-tired when he got the message that Georgette Delacroix was in the front office of Crescent City Transports and asking to see him—again. For some reason the news didn’t surprise him, maybe because the exotic beauty with the strange habit of blacking out on him had been on his mind far too often since she’d swayed against him in the conference room.
One of the weird things about being a man. No matter what was on your mind, your libido could come into play at the first touch of a seductive woman’s body. But Georgette had concerned him more than she’d aroused him. Something was going on with her, though she obviously wasn’t going to explain it to him.
Whatever her reasons, she was zeroing in on him, so once again Tanner grabbed his uniform from the hook on the back of the door and went off to meet the intriguing and very inquisitive attorney.
GEORGETTE LOOKED UP when Tanner walked into the conference room.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he said, offering a half smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“I won’t keep you but a minute.”
He looked at his watch as if he were going to time her. “How can I help you?”
“I seem to have lost a notebook, and I thought perhaps it fell out of my briefcase when I was here the other day.”
“If it did, I didn’t see it. I can check in the office to see if anyone’s turned it in.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’d appreciate that.”
“So what are we looking for? Small? Large? Some kind of binder?”
“Letter-size with a black leather cover,” she lied.
“Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”
She slid onto one of the chairs and opened her briefcase. She’d scribbled some notes after driving over, mostly impressions from the nightmare. She couldn’t tell Tanner about her visions, but her operational plan involved more than a fictitious notebook.
If Sebastion found out about this, he’d raise all kinds of hell, scream that she was overstepping her bounds and that she should be spending her time concentrating on the cases she had going to trial. But then Sebastion was frequently in a foul mood these days even if she didn’t give him reason to complain.
Georgette pulled out the pencil sketch she’d done in the parking lot before coming inside to see Tanner. It was a recognizably close match to the young woman from the visions. Long straight hair, petite, probably no more than a size four. Big eyes. Full lips. Light brows, not too thick. A classic nose. Face slightly oblong, almost regal. And very young. Now all she had to do was study Tanner’s reaction when he saw the drawing.
But while she was sitting there, a new image flew into her mind. This time it was a dark-haired, Hispanic man with slicked-back hair and tattoos all over his biceps.
She started to draw, filling in the features, her fingers flying as she transferred his likeness to the page, so lost in what she was doing that she didn’t hear Tanner when he walked up behind her.
“What do you know about Lily?”
The pencil dropped from Georgette’s hand and rolled to the middle of the table. She turned and stared at Tanner. Anger darkened his face and clamped his jaw tight. There was no doubt she’d hit a nerve.
“Lily?”
“You know damn well who I’m talking about.” He reached behind him, hooked the door and slammed it shut. “The girl in the picture. Where is she?”
“You’re asking me?”
He grabbed her arm and tugged her to her feet. “Don’t play games with me, Georgette.”
“I’m not playing.”
“So what do you call it? You come in here in your little power suit, flash a business card that says you’re from the D.A.’s office and ask me the same questions over and over.” He picked up her drawings and shook them in her face. “Now you show me a sketch of my daughter and some muscular thug.”
His daughter. Surely not, but when she met his gaze and saw the distress in his eyes, she was almost sure he was telling the truth.
“I didn’t know she was your daughter.”
“Why else would you be here with this picture?”
“I thought…” She caught herself before she blurted out too much. “I had information you were linked to the young woman in the drawing, but I never realized…”
“I don’t give a damn what you’ve heard about me. I’m only interested in one thing. Do you know where Lily is?”
She shook her head. “Not exactly.”
He tapped his finger on the burly ruffian she’d drawn. “Is she with this guy?”
“She could be.”
His grip tightened on her arm. “Tell me what you know about Lily, straight, none of your attorney double-talk.”
He was angry, demanding. She didn’t blame him, yet even now she wasn’t certain he was totally innocent in any of this. “How long has it been since you’ve seen your daughter?”
“Three years.”
Her suspicions swelled again.
Tanner dropped to a chair. “It’s not the way it sounds. Her mother and I are divorced, and Lily lived in London with her until a little over two months ago. She left there without telling me or her mother her plans. By the time I found out she was in New Orleans, she’d disappeared.”
“Your daughter flew all the way from London to New Orleans but didn’t contact you, not even after she’d arrived?”
“I was out of town and no one knew how to reach me. I’ve been searching for her since the day I got back. The only information I’ve been able to uncover is that she worked for Maurice Gaspard for a while.”
“As a prostitute?”
“So it seems.”
The pain pulled at his voice, and in spite of her doubts her heart went out to him. “I’m sorry, Tanner.”
“I don’t need your sympathy. Just give me answers.”
He was desperate for the truth, but there was no way to tell him what little she knew without explaining how she knew it. Georgette Delacroix, junior prosecutor with the D.A.’s office. Georgette Delacroix, psychic, with the ability to see things and feel things when there was no logical explanation for her powers.
…her blood will be on your hands.
“I need to get some air.”
“You’re not going to run out on me, Georgette, not until you level with me.”
She held on to the back of the chair with one hand and struggled for a deep settling breath. “I don’t know exactly where your daughter is, but she’s either in a swamp or has been in one recently. I think she’s running from someone.”
“Where did you get this information?”
“A