The detective’s eyes widened slightly when she threw out the private investigator part, but he managed to force the bored look back into place. “I don’t know what it is you or the Frederick woman needs to know. The man’s dead and she killed him. From where I sit, it seemed like a good idea. Not sure what more there is to investigate.”

“Ms. Frederick thinks she’s being stalked.”

Vincent sighed and slumped back in his chair. “This again?”

“Are you the officer she spoke to a couple of days ago?”

“I’m afraid so. Look, I listened to everything she had to say, drove to her house, and me and my partner checked every square inch of the place. There was no forced entry, and Ms. Frederick told me she’d changed the locks after the other incident. I can’t make something out of nothing.”

Shaye’s back tightened and she struggled to maintain her cool. “Ms. Frederick saw someone in her house. How can that be nothing?”

Vincent shook his head. “Emma Frederick is a nice woman who went through something horrible. Regular people aren’t prepared to be attacked, much less kill their attacker, especially when they’re married to him. I’d be more worried if she didn’t have some trauma after what she’s been through.”

“You think she imagined it.” No wonder Emma had been so worried that Shaye wouldn’t believe her. Someone was stalking the woman, and the cop who should be trying to figure out who it was didn’t even think there was anything to investigate.

“Of course she imagined it. What other possible explanation is there?”

“I don’t know. I suppose someone could have been in her house but you failed to find the point of ingress.”

“Got yourself a live one, Vincent,” said a young policeman at the desk next to Vincent’s. He looked at another cop standing next to him and grinned.

Vincent shot them a bored look. “I didn’t fail to find anything because there wasn’t anything to find.”

“Maybe. But I’m being paid to make sure.”

“So make sure. It’s not my dime.”

His dismissive tone was the last straw for Shaye. Since when had the burden of proof shifted to the victim? “And if I find something you missed?”

Vincent’s jaw flexed. “Look, you seem like a nice girl. You should be down in the Quarter, partying with your girlfriends and looking for a husband to get you that piece of the good life.”

Even though she knew he’d said it to get to her, Shaye bristled. “The day I need a man is the day I check myself into a convent.”

Vincent smirked. “But yet you’re here needing something. And I’m a man.”

Shaye smiled. “I’ll acquiesce to the first comment. I’m not convinced of the second.”

“Ooooh.” The other cops sounded off in tandem as Shaye rose from the chair.

“Thank you so much for your time, Detective Vincent. Since that’s all you gave me.” She slung her purse over her shoulder and headed for the exit.

“You go girl,” one of the prostitutes said as Shaye passed. “Don’t take no shit from a man or you’ll end up like me.”

Shaye gave her a nod and picked up her pace, letting the door to the station slam shut behind her. To hell with the cops. Hoping for some help from Detective Beaumont had been a reach to begin with. She had no reason to expect a cop who didn’t even know her to offer up information. Before she’d even said a word to Detective Vincent, she’d expected him to scoff at her profession and the case, but she hadn’t expected the level of derision he’d shown toward her client. Clearly, Vincent had problems with women, and even more of a problem with someone finding out he’d been wrong.

Shaye had every intention of making that potential problem a reality.

###

As the precinct door slammed shut behind Shaye Archer, Detective Jackson Lamotte sat at his desk nearby watching as two rookie cops starting razing Vincent. It wasn’t smart of them. Vincent had rank and could make their jobs miserable, a fact he knew all too well since he’d been partnered with Vincent a year ago. But he couldn’t blame them for their delight. Vincent was a sexist asshole and a lazy cop to boot. Sure, he’d taken down his share of bad guys back in the day, but now he seemed content with cruising straight into retirement on past performance.

Jackson had known exactly how things would go the moment Shaye sat down at Vincent’s desk. At least, he’d known how things would go from Vincent’s end. With her cool demeanor and quick comebacks, Shaye had surprised him. For someone so young, she wasn’t easily intimidated.

He looked out the window and watched as she crossed the street and went into a café. Vincent’s irritated voice sounded behind him as he argued with the rookies. Jackson glanced back and decided the argument would probably take a while, and then Vincent would need a break to recover from his hard morning. Vincent always needed a break, and lately, every morning was hard. Basically, unless dispatch forced Vincent off his desk, Jackson wouldn’t be needed or missed. Maybe when the man retired, Jackson would get to do actual full-time work again. Shuffling paper at his desk was getting old.

He rose from his chair and grabbed his cell phone and wallet out of his desk drawer. No one even looked his direction as he wove in between the desks and made his way out of the precinct.

It was too late for the work crowd and too early for the tourists, so he easily spotted Shaye at a table in the back corner, sipping on a latte. Only one other table was occupied—two old men arguing over gas prices and the best place to get a haircut. They barely nodded as he made his way past them. Shaye, however, was another story. Her gaze locked onto him as soon as he stepped in the café, and never wavered as he walked directly toward her. Her eyes widened for an instant as he stopped at her table, but she recovered quickly.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked.

“No. But I think I can help you.”

She gave him a disgusted look. “Take a hike, perv.”

Jackson let out a single laugh. “Shit. No, that’s not it.” He pulled out his ID and held it out for her to see. “I’m a detective.”

“That’s too bad.”

“There’s days I feel the same way. I heard your exchange with Vincent. Do you mind if I sit down?”

She studied him for a moment, then pointed to the chair. “Suit yourself.”

As Jackson pulled the chair out and sat, a waitress sauntered over and smiled at him. “Your usual, Detective?”

“That would be great,” he said. “Thanks, Christi.”

“First-name basis?” Shaye asked.

“Café…police station. Seems a natural progression.”

“I suppose so.”

Christi returned with a large mug of black coffee and sat it in front of him. He added a packet of the fake stuff and stirred. “About Vincent, I would apologize for his behavior, but I don’t figure you’d care, and he’s not my responsibility.”

Shaye raised one eyebrow. “Honest and direct. That’s something I don’t get often.”

“Yeah, well, I’m lazy and lying requires too much effort.”

Shaye’s lower lip trembled and he could tell she wanted to smile, but he hadn’t completely breached her defenses.

“I’m glad you stopped across the street,” he continued. “I probably wouldn’t have followed you more than a block. Maybe less.”

The smile finally crept through. “So why are you expending so much of your valuable energy pursuing me into coffee shops?”

“Emma Frederick hired you?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me why exactly?”

Normally, Shaye would never give out information about a case, but Detective Lamotte wasn’t just anyone, and given that he’d heard her conversation with Vincent, he already knew most of it. The case part, anyway.

“She’s being stalked.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because she said so. Look, Detective Lamotte—”

“Call me Jackson.”

“Okay, Jackson, I don’t know when the police department’s policy changed from helping victims to mocking them, but I don’t like it. Emma Frederick is a nice woman who is scared to death, and you guys are telling her she’s imagining things.”