Dan nodded his head. “I think the killer was local. He knew neighborhoods. He knew places to break in, and back then almost everyone had an axe. I don’t believe the Mob-connection theory. No hit man kills a two-year-old child.” He stopped to mop up the last bites of his dinner. “And I don’t think again that there was any particular hatred for the old couple and their help. But the killer knew them. Knew their home, their habits. Busy streets, I believe, are safe. This guy likes darkness and shadows and an escape route. Dessert? Or should we get going?” he asked.

Katie looked at the time on her phone. They’d been there a while.

“The desserts are amazing,” she said.

“Okay, what—”

“But we should get going.”

Dan smiled. “I’ll ask for the check.”

He swiveled in his chair to look for their waiter. Katie gazed out the front door. Their table happened to be positioned at one of the few angles allowing her to do so.

There was a woman in front of the door. She had waist-length, very dark hair. She was slim, maybe five foot six.

She was wearing jeans and a peasant-style blouse and carried a shoulder bag.

She moved impatiently, as if she was waiting for someone.

And she didn’t like waiting.

There was something about her...

Katie vaguely heard Dan speaking to the waiter, handing him a credit card.

She stood.

“Katie?”

She barely heard him. She turned and moved toward the front door.

She wasn’t sure, but she thought the woman looked through the door and into the restaurant. Looked at Katie.

For a minute, or forever, Katie felt as if their gazes locked.

Then the woman moved.

Katie went flying out the door after her.

People...there were so many people about. Of course. It was a tourist area; it was the French Quarter. They might be scared, but many had probably taken their work breaks and their savings to come here.

They’d told themselves they weren’t residents, they didn’t have homes here, they didn’t need to be afraid on the streets of New Orleans.

Katie was afraid she’d lost the woman in the crowd.

Then she saw her, heading down St. Louis Street toward the river.

Katie went tearing after her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Dan wondered what on earth had happened to Katie.

Their waiter, in a dignified manner, was returning with his credit card. He made eye contact with the man and cried out, “I’ll be back!”

He couldn’t pause to sign the bill, and at least he wasn’t running out without paying it.

One thing for certain: he didn’t want Katie running loose on the streets alone.

Katie could move. Fast.

She was racing up toward Bourbon Street, doing an amazing job of zigzagging around pedestrians.