The Whispering Room

She wondered what she would do if he stepped in front of the stroller and barred her way. Her cell phone was in the diaper bag stowed on the rack beneath the seat. If he made a move toward her or the baby, she’d never be able to reach it in time.

But the only way he’d ever touch her grandchild was over her dead body. Somehow Lynette didn’t think that obstacle would unduly concern him.

Two houses up, Peggy Ann Grainger came out her front door and headed down the walkway to check her mailbox. Lynette lifted a hand and called out to her. “Hey, there! Yoo-hoo! Peggy Ann!”

The woman looked up and around, and then waved back when she spotted Lynette. “Hey, Lynette! Long time no see.”

“You enjoy your trip to Florida?” Lynette shot a wary glance at the stranger. He was staring down at her in amusement. It was all she could do to suppress a shudder.

“Sure did. Ate too much, though. What else is new?” To Lynette’s relief, Peggy Ann started toward them. “That your grandbaby you got there with you?”

“Come see how much he’s grown!”

The man continued to smile down at Lynette, but something shifted in his eyes. When he turned to glance at Peggy Ann, Lynette could have sworn she saw a flash of red near his pupils.

“Excuse me,” she said again as she wheeled the stroller around him. “Good luck finding your friend’s house.”

She didn’t look back until she met up with Peggy Ann on the sidewalk, and then she glanced over her shoulder as the other woman bent to admire the sleeping baby.

The man strode across the street where he climbed into an old black Cadillac Eldorado. After a moment, he started the engine and pulled away from the curb, and it was only then that Lynette glimpsed the passenger in the front seat.

A beautiful blond woman stared out the window as they drove by. Her gaze was fixed, not on Lynette or Peggy Ann, but on the stroller that carried the sleeping baby.

Ten

Nash was having a late breakfast in his favorite dive when he saw Evangeline Theroux walk in. He wanted to believe it was just one of those odd occurrences, but he knew better than to discount her investigative skills.

He dropped his gaze to the newspaper in front of him and didn’t look up again until she stopped beside his booth.

Today she had on a gray suit with black shoes, and her badge was clipped to a leather messenger bag strapped across her slim torso. Her blond hair looked windblown, as if she’d been riding in a convertible, but he suspected she’d been running her fingers through it in agitation.

“Special Agent Nash?” She plopped down on the red vinyl bench without waiting for an invitation. “I’m Evangeline Theroux. But then…you already know who I am, don’t you?”

His gaze moved over her in a curious sweep. The lashes that rimmed her blue eyes were coated with mascara, but she wore no other makeup, and beneath her tan, he could see a shower of freckles on her nose and across her cheekbones.

From a distance, the ill-fitting drab suit coupled with the blond ponytail and the plain shoes had given her the appearance of a kid playing dress-up, but now Nash noticed the tiny lines around her eyes. He knew from her file that she was thirty-three, and up close, she looked every year of her age and then some.

“What can I do for you, Detective Theroux?”

She smiled at the use of her title. “So you do know who I am.”

He held up the Times-Picayune. “I was just reading about you in the paper.”

“Now that’s what I call synchronicity.” She cocked her head, her expression benign, but he could see the glitter of anger in her electric blue eyes. “What I find really strange, though, is that you don’t seem all that surprised to see me. Why is that?”

“I’ve been in this business for a long time. Nothing surprises me anymore.”

“That whole jaded G-man shtick…” She waved a hand. “It’s a little tired, don’t you think?”

Her drawl was exaggerated, her tone openly goading. Nash was amused. He tossed aside the paper and picked up his coffee cup. “How did you know where to find me?”

“I heard you like to come here. Seems you’re a creature of habit.” She smiled at his expression. “Now you do look surprised. You federal boys aren’t the only ones with the resources and know-how to track someone down, you know.”

“Well, we do have a pretty good record,” he said.

“Right. And how’s that whole Jimmy Hoffa search coming along?”

“We’re still pursuing leads,” he said without cracking a smile. “We don’t like to rush in impulsively and make a lot of mistakes.”

She missed his subtle jab. Or ignored it. “If that’s what passes for a sense of humor down at the federal building these days, I think you guys should seriously rethink having those sticks removed from your butts.”

“Now that’s funny,” he said.

“Really? Because I was dead serious.” She waved off an approaching waitress, then glanced at his empty cup. “Oh, did you want more coffee?”

“That’s okay. One cup’s my limit.”

“The old Hoover Discipline, huh?”