Axel answered his phone, and Katie tried not to stammer. “He was here, saw me looking at him, and took off. Here at Duffy’s Den. Dan is already in pursuit. He bolted out onto Bourbon Street.”

“I’m two blocks away. I’ll send out the info. We’ll send out the troops. What was he wearing?”

“A white waiter’s jacket, but I imagine he’s shed it by now,” Katie said.

“You’re probably right. I’ll use the sketches,” Axel said. “Stay where you are, Katie, in the middle of lots of people.”

“Um...”

She was already outside the restaurant. She doubted she’d be welcomed back in. But she was on Bourbon in front of the restaurant, and there were people milling everywhere. Many were laughing, walking arm in arm and swaying arm in arm, in some cases.

“Right!” she told Axel.

She didn’t want the agent worrying about her, not when he needed to get everyone finding the man she knew as Neil Browne.

She ended the call. She wondered if she should call Ryder, too, but Dan had told her both Axel and Ryder would be on the street peeking into different establishments. She was sure they had a communication protocol established.

She looked down the street, watching a group of thirtysomethings piling into the popular karaoke establishment.

Others were ambling into and out of bars and clubs.

Maybe she should wander, not far, just a block or two, peek into bars and anywhere Neil Browne might have fled for cover. But he was probably off of Bourbon Street already.

Or was he?

What better place could one find to join in with a crowd and blend into a group?

A large, popular bar with nightly live music was a stone’s throw away.

Katie headed in that direction.

Neil Browne had disappeared into thin air before Dan had reached the street.

That wasn’t possible, so he had ducked in somewhere.

He headed down the street where one bar, despite the killer’s copycat Axeman letter, was playing rock music. An AC/DC number was blaring out the doors with such energy they seemed to shiver.

People were filing in. Some to dance, some for the advertised cheap drinks.

He entered. The place was crowded. Tables were spilling over, the floor in front of the cover band was filled to the brim with gyrating singles and couples, and it was about three deep at the bar.

He searched through the crowd, glad of his height. He could see over most people. He reminded himself that according to Katie, the man was about five-eleven or six feet. He looked for the white jacket but instantly knew the first thing the man would have done would have been to toss the waiter’s garb he’d been wearing.

Process of elimination. He glanced over singles, couples and groups and then moved toward the bar.

The Aerosmith number segued into a tune from Metallica.