“What about Frieda?”

“Call her from Evette’s phone. It’s secured and will give the two of you a way to communicate until I can clean or replace yours. Tell her whatever you feel she needs to know, and let her know a man will be at her address within a half hour.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs and Evette said, “Who’s Frieda?”

“Cassie’s aunt,” Kir answered. “We’re moving her here as well just to be safe.”

“Sweet!” Evette said. “Maybe we should call Dorothy, too. The women can all camp over here and drown in comfort food while the men go beat on their chests.”

Emerson spun from putting a monstrous box of Lucky Charms in the cupboard. “Where am I gonna go?”

Evette cocked an eyebrow. “You can be the guys’ ambassador with free travel back and forth, but you have to promise not to share any girl secrets.”

He shrugged and dug into the grocery bag on the floor beside him for whatever else was inside. “I can work with that.”

Giggling like she truly was hosting a girls’ sleepover instead of dealing with the fallout from a personal threat, Evette wrapped Cassie up at the waist with one arm and shooed Kir toward the door. “Go. Sergei and Roman are in Sergei’s office waiting for you. Do whatever it is you badasses do, and we’ll hold the fort down here.”

From the fatigued, yet bewildered look on Cassie’s face, the mix of slapstick hilarity and female companionship was probably just what she needed to get through the hours ahead. Leaving her, though, proved more difficult than he’d expected. “If you need me, they all have my number.”

He forced one foot in front of the other—out the front door and along the meandering flagstone path through the beautiful backyard to the main house, making calls to his men with instructions to pick up Cassie’s aunt. He nodded to the man stationed closest to the back door and strode through the quiet kitchen. Past the formal living area with its adjacent living room, and up the stairs to Sergei’s office. Unlike the carriage house’s more updated look, the landmark estate had been primarily restored with a nod to its heritage, complete with crystal chandeliers, custom rugs and silk drapes covering nine-foot windows. A mix of French Creole flair from days gone by offset by the most enviable modern conveniences.

He found Roman comfortably seated in front of Sergei’s desk, his phone to one ear and his scowl aimed at Kir as he came through the door. “Start at 7:30 and watch until 10:30. All three camera angles available in the bar.”

Sergei sat with one ankle perched across his knee, his elbows resting on the arms of his thick leather chair, and his fingers steepled in front of his chest.

Kir stalked toward the seat next to Roman. “Who’s he talking to?” he said to Sergei.

“The manager on duty last night at André’s,” he answered low enough so as not to disrupt Roman’s conversation. “We’ve pulled security tapes.”