Showdown in Mudbug (Ghost-in-Law, #3)(61)

“Chuck, what in the world is going on?” Lila felt the blood drain from her face and she stumbled in the hallway. Chuck grabbed her arm and steadied her, guiding her out of the clinic and onto the front lawn. Lila took a deep breath, then looked at Chuck. “What is it? You know something.”

Chuck pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed 911. He told the dispatcher he wanted to report a break-in and possible missing person. “They said someone will be here shortly,” he said and closed the phone. “There was a guy parked across the street yesterday talking to Hank. It didn’t look like a friendly sort of conversation.”

“What did he want?”

“I don’t know. Hank tried to play it off that the guy wanted directions, but I didn’t buy it. And I didn’t like the look of the guy. Now this. There’s no way in hell Hank Henry left this clinic with power tools plugged in, stain uncovered, and his wallet and keys still on that ladder—not voluntarily, anyway.”

Lila covered her mouth with her hand, worry and fear washing over every square inch of her body. “Oh, no.”

Chuck looked Lila in the eye. “I know about all that doctor-patient-privilege stuff, but if you know what Hank was involved in before he went into rehab, I think I need to know. I think the police are gonna need to know.”

Lila nodded, not concerned in the least about the ethics of the situation. All she wanted was Hank, safe and sound and staining cabinets at her clinic. “He got into trouble gambling. Owed the wrong people money. He worked it off, but never gave me details as to how, exactly. He only said that work is what sent him to rehab.”

“What people?” Chuck asked, the fear in his eyes clear as day.

“The Hebert family.”

Chuck closed his eyes and blew out a breath. “Dear Lord,” he whispered.

Even though it was every bit of eighty degrees outside, Lila shivered.





Zach was still sound asleep when his cell phone started ringing. He reached for the nightstand, but all he found was air. Confused, he opened one eye, and that’s when he remembered that he wasn’t home—he was in a hotel with the hottest and most dangerous woman he’d ever met.

He hopped out of bed and dug through a pile of hastily discarded clothes scattered across the hotel-room floor. Finally, he located his pants and pulled the phone from the pocket, managing to answer the call just before it went to voice mail.

“Damn it, Blanchard!” the captain yelled. “What the hell took you so long to answer? It’s eight thirty, and your ass was supposed to be at the station at eight. You got ten minutes to get here before I demote you to dogcatcher.”

Shit! “Uh, that’s not going to be possible…”

“It’s possible from anywhere in New Orleans.”

“I’m not exactly in New Orleans.”

“Well, where the hell are you?”

Zach paused. “Uh…following up on a lead?”

He heard Raissa laugh and covered the speaker part of his phone.

“Did that lead require you to spend the night? Oh, no, do not tell me that your ‘lead’ involves crystal balls.”

“Of course not, sir.” His balls were absolutely not made of crystal. “I’ll be there in forty minutes. I promise.”

He snapped his phone shut and shoved it in his pocket along with his wallet. Then he grabbed his keys off the dresser. “I can’t believe you let me sleep this late.”

“Late? Good Lord, please don’t tell me you’re a morning person.”

He looked over at her lying back in the bed, all rumpled and sexy. “I could probably be persuaded in that direction, but not today. The captain’s in one of his yelling moods. I need to go take some abuse.” He gave Raissa a quick kiss. “I’ll call you as soon as I run Spencer through the database.”





It was forty-two minutes later when Zach pulled up in front of the police station and hurried inside. He’d deal with parking in a tow zone as soon as the captain got done yelling.

“Blanchard!” the captain sounded off before he’d even gotten completely through the doorway. “My office—now!”

Zach saw Detective Morrow smirk as he rushed past his desk, but for once, he didn’t even care. He had far bigger fish to fry. Hell, he had the whole Atlantic Ocean of fish to fry. He hurried into the captain’s office and closed the door behind him.

The captain was pacing the length of his office and Zach almost ran into the man when he entered the office. “We’ve got trouble.”

Zach felt his pulse rise. The captain’s voice was different from when he’d talked to him at the hotel. Something was up. “What kind of trouble?”

“Another missing person.”

Zach felt a rush of blood to his head. “You’re kidding me. That’s not the MO.”

“It’s not another girl. This is an adult male.”

Relief washed over Zach. “Then it’s probably not related.”

“I know. Likely this has nothing to do with the Franco case, but it’s the second goddamned missing person in a week. I’m catching hell all the way around here, Blanchard. I hope that psychic woman was able to give you a lead.”

“Nothing solid yet, but there’s a couple of things I want to look into.”