Showdown in Mudbug (Ghost-in-Law, #3)(8)

A couple of minutes later, Hank was seated at her tiny kitchen table, and she set two glasses of scotch on the table with the rest of the bottle between them. “I figured this wasn’t the sort of conversation that called for coffee or tea.”

Hank looked grateful but not the least bit relieved. Whatever had him hiding in a dark alley waiting to accost a woman he didn’t really know must be heavy, which was worrisome at best. The Hank Henry she’d always heard about was usually in minor trouble, but nothing of the sort that had him stalking women and looking as jumpy as a cat. “How do you know Sonny Hebert?”

Hank froze for a second, then stared down at the table. “Look, I did some stupid things in the past. Really stupid. I had a gambling problem, and I owed the wrong people money.”

“You borrowed money from the Hebert family to gamble? That’s not a problem—that’s a death wish.”

“Don’t you think I know that? But I swear, when I made the deal, I had no idea the Heberts were behind it. It was one of their cousins, different last name, and I didn’t make the connection until it was too late.”

“So all this hiding out you’ve been doing isn’t from the Mudbug police.”

“Heck, no. Spending some time in the Mudbug jail would be a relief compared to this, but I can’t get caught staying anywhere too long, especially in places I can’t walk out of. Know what I mean?”

Raissa nodded. Oh yeah, she knew exactly what Hank meant. Anyone could get caught—and in jail, you were a sitting duck.

“Another month and I’ll have all my fines in Mudbug paid, so it won’t be an issue.” Hank leaned forward a bit in his chair and looked directly at Raissa. “Ms. Bordeaux, you don’t have to believe a word I say, but I want you to know that I’m clean. Been clean for over a year. I did some time in rehab—different name, of course, and nowhere near New Orleans. I’m a changed man, and I want to live a different life, but I can’t do that with the Heberts looking for me under every cypress tree in Louisiana.”

“How much do you owe them?”

Hank raised both hands in the air. “Nothing! I swear I don’t owe them a dime. We had a deal, and I worked off my debt. Working off that debt is what sent me to rehab. I’m not a great man, and I know my morals are lacking, but I don’t have the stomach for the way those men live. I had to get clean. There wasn’t any other choice.”

Raissa frowned. “So if you don’t owe them, what do they want?”

“They keep asking me to do stuff…jobs, you know? I’ve told ’em I’m straight and I don’t want any trouble, but seems like whenever I go to one of my old haunts, there’s always one of the family hanging around.”

“There’s plenty of people who’d be happy to do Hebert’s bidding and take the paycheck. So why keep bothering you?”

Hank blew out a breath. “I think it’s because they think I know something.”

“Know what?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know. But they keep asking these strange questions about people in Mudbug and stuff.”

Raissa mentally counted to five. “So they’re asking you questions, trying to get you to admit to something they think you know, but you don’t know what that something is?

Hank nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I guess I saw or heard something I wasn’t supposed to, but hell, how am I supposed to know which thing it was? These people didn’t do picnics and bowling league. It could be anything.”

Raissa tapped one finger on the table and stared at the wall behind Hank. “No, it couldn’t be anything. You were privy to the inner workings of a mob family for a while and, I’m sure, saw plenty. But whatever they’re afraid you know, I’ll bet it doesn’t have anything to do with extortion, or loan-sharking, or even murder.”

“What then?”

“Something worse, much worse.”

Hank’s eyes widened, and Raissa knew exactly what he was wondering—what’s worse than murder? If only she had an answer. “So,” Raissa continued, “you said you thought I was in danger from the Heberts. What makes you think that?”

Hank lifted his glass and downed the rest of the contents. Hand shaking, he placed the glass back down on the table. “Because they asked me to kill you.”





Chapter Three


Raissa slammed her scotch glass onto the table. “They asked you to kill me?”

Hank nodded, clearly frightened. “Not you by name, exactly, but they said that friend of my ex-wife’s that was a psychic…but they were clear that it wasn’t Sabine. I told ’em no, straight out. I ain’t never killed no one, and I ain’t about to start.”

Raissa narrowed her eyes at Hank. “How did you find me?”

“I remembered Sabine saying your shop name before, so I looked it up.” His eyes widened. “Oh, shit. I led them right to you, didn’t I?” He jumped up from the table. “Jesus, I didn’t even think—How could I be so stupid?”

Raissa rose from her chair and placed her hand on Hank’s arm. “Don’t worry about it. They know about your connection to me, so they already know how to find me, I’m sure.”

Hank stared at her for a moment, still not quite buying it. Finally, he blew out a breath and sank back into the chair. “Then why come to me at all? If the Heberts want you gone, and they know who you are and where to find you, they could have already handled this. Why ask me when they already knew I wasn’t going to do it?”