She tried to twist it away.
He stopped. “I am prepared to make a scene right here in the bank with everyone watching. Are you?”
Of course she wasn’t. If he made a fuss, she would have the kind of hysterics that would embarrass everyone in the bank except Nessa.
Nessa would be mortified.
So she let him guide her into his office and shut the door. He seated her in his desk chair, perched his hip on the desk, and said, “Talk.”
She took a long, quivering breath. “Mr. MacNaught won’t allow me to advance. Ever.”
“Why not?”
“Because of that stupid mistake I made years ago.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “I hate him. I hate Mr. MacNaught. I hope he gets genital warts.”
“I think he’s safe from that.”
“Genital warts? I suppose. Who’s going to sleep with him?”
Jeremiah rubbed his palms on his knees. “In this case, I’m going to have to agree with MacNaught.”
She lifted her gaze to his and shot red thunderbolts from her eyes. At least she thought she did. She hoped she did.
Unfortunately, he appeared to be unblasted.
“I beg your pardon?” she said frigidly.
“You let a teller of dubious character walk out of this bank without checking her drawer because she appealed to your better nature. I do believe you when you say it was only a mistake.”
She rose to her feet. “That’s damned generous of you.”
He plowed on, getting stupider by the word. “And yes, you’ve worked faithfully and not made another one. But you’re soft. You’re kind. Out of pure generosity, someday you’re going to make another mistake, and if you’re in a higher position, the mistake will be bigger, possibly even something prosecutable.”
She stared at Jeremiah and realized—this was what he really believed. This was why he had distracted her in the vault rather than discuss the issue. Not because he was so swept away by passion he couldn’t think, but because he knew she was going to be furious about what passed for good sense in his mind.
He scrutinized her as if he expected her to buy the whole load of manure. “Mr. MacNaught is looking out for himself and you.”
“By golly, you’re right. Mr. MacNaught has managed to get seven years of slave labor out of me while looking out for my interests. What a great guy!” She almost choked on her bile.
Speaking in a soothing voice, he said, “Look. I’ll talk to him.”
“Don’t do me any favors.”
“I’ll explain you need a position that utilizes your gentler skills.”
“No. Really. Don’t do me any favors.” He was making her feel cheap, as if she’d slept with him in the hopes of advancing her position.
He charged on. “Maybe in HR.”
She had only one good nerve left, and he had just snapped it. “Human resources? What am I going to do in human resources? I’m good at finance, damned good at it. I understand the numbers. I know how to manipulate them. How do you think this bank has attracted so many investors? I take their profiles, help with their investments, and make them a fortune!” She flung up an arm. “I don’t want to get stuck in human-freaking-resources!”
He looked taken aback, as if it had never occurred to him that a mere woman would want anything but a warm, fuzzy, people-related job.
“I want to quit.” She paced across the room. “I can’t believe I’ve worked extra hours, kept MacNaught’s bank running at peak performance in the hopes that he’d notice, and all the time it was for nothing. I couldn’t do anything that was good enough to wipe out the past.” She stopped, stared at the wall, and took a quavering breath. “I have been such a sucker.”
“So you’re going to find another job.”
“No, I…because…no. Just…no.” She couldn’t tell him about the panties. They’d fallen out of her pocket, but only a minute ago he’d proved he was the kind of guy who took responsibility for everything. He might try and make amends, and that would make matters worse. The last thing she needed was a guy with the conversational skills of a rock talking to Mr. MacNaught about what happened in that vault.
She shoved her hair off her forehead. She hurt all over. She felt as if she had the flu. She suffered from frustration and embarrassment—sucker, such a sucker!— and abruptly, she realized she couldn’t stay here anymore. It didn’t matter what Stephabeast did; Nessa had to get out. “I’m going.” She walked toward the door, ready to throw a fit if he tried to stop her.
“Okay.” He stood aside, and he had the funniest look on his face, half-knowing, half-angry.
She didn’t know what it meant, but she didn’t care. Right now, she only cared about Ionessa Dahl, sucker extraordinaire.
Going to her desk, she grabbed her purse and headed out the door, ignoring the startled tellers, the customers, Eric’s stunned expression. Stepping out on the street, she looked around.
She didn’t know where to go. She couldn’t go home and face the aunts, and explain that her own gullibility had made it necessary that they continue working their boarding house until the day they died.
So where…?
She pulled out her cell phone. She dialed a number. And when Georgia picked up, Nessa heard the roar of Bourbon Street in the background. “Can you meet me somewhere?” she shouted.
Georgia, bless her, didn’t question Nessa at all. “Sure. Do you need me to come and get you?”
“No, just tell me where.”
“I should have had a break about six hours ago. Can you get to that bakery? Deaux?”
“I’m on my way.”
“Nessa…? Do you need me to come and get you?”
But Nessa hung up. She stepped into the street, and the first cab she flagged down stopped for her.
If God was giving her a cab as compensation for all the crap she’d put up with all these years, God was going to have to do better than that.
She climbed in, and said, “Deaux Bakery.”
The friendly-looking cabby took one glance at her face and took off like a rocket, scattering pedestrians and shooting through red lights. He got to Deaux in record time, and she gave him a magnificent tip.
Why not? She’d never be able to save enough money to spare her aunts from working for the rest of their lives. She might as well spend it like she had it.
She walked into the bakery and café, and Georgia waved her toward the tiny round table. Like any good cop, Georgia had her back to the wall and she faced the door.
Nessa must have looked like hell, because as she approached, Georgia came to her feet and caught Nessa in a bear hug. As Nessa clutched at her, Georgia whispered, “It’s okay, Nessa. Whatever it is, we can fix it.”
“No, you can’t. No one can fix this. I’ve managed to get my tit into such a wringer—”
“Hey!” Georgia yelled at the waitress. “We need coffee over here, strong and black, and a plate of pastries and some pralines if you have them.” She glanced at Nessa’s face again. “And chocolate. Lots of chocolate.” She shoved Nessa into a chair. Took the chair opposite. Leaned toward Nessa. “Now, tell me everything. Is it that man? Because if it is, I can take him out.”
Nessa wanted to laugh. She really did. She just felt as if she’d lost the knack of it. “It’s not him. It’s me. That’s what’s killing me. I did this to myself.” Slowly, then with increasing speed, Nessa told the whole ugly story.
At first, when she told Georgia about working for a promotion and being told it would never come, Georgia nodded as if she expected nothing different. And when Nessa told her about getting locked in the vault and gave her an abbreviated version of the events inside, her brown eyes twinkled. The story of the hidden entrance to the vault made her sit up straight, and the news that Stephanie Decker had found the panties made her groan in distress.
But when Nessa told her that Stephanie intended that she stay and work for her forever, Georgia made a vulgar sound. “Honey, that’s blackmail, and blackmail is a
crime. Haven’t you heard that crime doesn’t pay?”
“She’s got me by the short hairs.”
“All I have to do—and I’m more than glad to do it to that bitch—is suggest to the guys on patrol that Miss Stephanie Decker is a person of suspicion, and by the time they get done with her, she’ll sneak out of New Orleans through the swamps at night and thank God she made it out alive.”
Nessa leaned back in her chair. “You’re trying to make me giggle.”
“Is it working?”
Nessa thought. “Will there be a water moccasin in the swamp?”
“A six-footer and her babies.”
Nessa nodded. “Then, yes, it is working.”
Georgia’s cell phone sounded, and she grinned as she looked down at it. As soon as she saw the message, the smile was wiped from her face.
“What’s wrong?” Nessa grabbed Georgia’s hand.
“There a robbery in progress at Premier Central Bank on Iberville, a block and a half from here.” She started away, then as Nessa rose, she said, “Stay here.” She ran out of the restaurant.
Nessa stared after her, then she ran, too.
Georgia wore a uniform and flat cop shoes and dodged through the crowd.
Nessa wore a business suit and pumps, and she used her two-inch heels ruthlessly to move people out of her way.
She lost sight of Georgia, then saw her twenty yards ahead as she drew her weapon and ran through the door at the bank.
Thirty seconds later, Nessa arrived, out-of-breath anxious for her friends inside. She charged through the door and into the lobby filled with frantic, milling customers and high-pitched female shrieks.
“A mouse!”
“There’s another one!”
A small, gray, long-tailed creature scampered across Nessa’s foot. She jumped. She looked down. Mice were everywhere, scurrying, dodging, panicked by the shrieks and the trampling feet.
No wonder people were screaming and running.
Then the crowd parted and she caught sight of Georgia standing, arms extended, weapon steadily pointed at the two tall, elegantly costumed, masked—and armed—robbers.
In a deep, husky voice, one of the robbers said, “Honey, you don’t want to do that.”
That voice. That familiar voice.
For the first time, Nessa heard, and saw, what the video had hidden from her.
Georgia shouted, “Put down your weapons slowly and raise your hands.”
Nessa did the only thing she could do. She screamed, “A mouse!” and leaped toward her friend.
Georgia half turned.
Nessa knocked her off her feet.
Stupid. Clumsy. Awkward and a cliché. But it was the only way Nessa could think to stop her friend from shooting her great-aunts.
Her great-aunts…the Beaded Bandits.
Twenty-four
Mac’s cell rang. He checked the caller ID.
Gabriel.
And Nessa had left the bank in a fury.
Opening the phone, he snapped, “MacNaught.”
“They’re robbing the Iberville Street bank.” Gabriel’s voice was cool.
Mac’s voice was cooler. “After receiving disappointing information about her promotion, Nessa Dahl has left the premises.”
“You don’t know where she is?”
“Perhaps at the Iberville Street Bank.”
“Perhaps.” Gabriel waited a beat. “Bad news about security. My guy is locked in the john.”
Mac’s frustration level rose a notch. “Tell him to shoot his way out.”
“He can’t shoot his weapon. He doesn’t know who’s on the other side of the door, and no matter what you think now, you do not want a customer killed.” Gabriel’s voice was prosaic. “Anyway, he thinks there’s a chair under the handle.”
Mac made the connection at once. “He was in the john when those sonsabitches hit?”
“Yes, the thieves were watching for the right moment to strike.”
“Whoever placed the chair should be on the tape.”
“Whoever placed the chair is going to be in disguise, but we can do a lot with the high-def videos.” Gabriel sounded satisfied about that, at least.
“What about the other security guard? The one I placed?”
Gabriel’s voice turned cautious. “My guy’s been trying to raise him on the cell phone. He finally got him, but the guy kept screaming—”
“They shot him?” Not that Mac wanted anyone hurt, but a little violence would finally get these cases the attention they deserved.
“Not exactly. The guy kept screaming, ‘Mice!’”
“Mice?” Mac’s gaze fell on the computer mouse on his desk. Naw, that didn’t make sense. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I dunno, but we’ll find out. The NOPD has one officer responding from a block away. She should be there by now.”
“I’m going.”
“I knew you would.” Gabriel hung up.
By the time Mac got a cab, he’d received a call from Chief Cutter telling him an officer was on scene, and another telling him no shots had been fired and the robbers had gotten away with an unspecified amount of cash.
Mac walked into the chaos of the bank lobby to find two patrolmen at the door, three officers inside interviewing the witnesses, Gabriel’s man on the phone, and his own security guard, a burly, 260-pound former LSU offensive tackle, standing on a desk.
In fact, four women were sitting on desks, one with her hand over her eyes while she sobbed.
The bank manager, Dave Bowling, hurried over. “Mr. Mac, we’re trapping as many as we can, but I’ve got an exterminator on the way.”
“Great.” The shock had unhinged Bowling’s mind.
Then Mac saw a small fluff of gray fur whisk across the floor.
Two of the women screamed. So did his security guard.
“Oh. Mice.” Mac understood now. The thieves had brought in a cage full of mice and let them loose.
Brilliant. Just brilliant.
Georgia sat in a chair, an ice pack on her elbow, her eyes narrowed and furious as she listened to the police chief give her hell.
Another cop, a white guy with a lived-in face, stood behind her, massaging her shoulders.
Mac placed his hand on Georgia’s arm. “You okay?”
“Just peachy,” she snapped. “Sorry, man, I thought I had them.”
“Shit happens.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” she muttered.
“She got here before anyone else.” The guy with the lived-in face offered his hand. “Antoine Valteau.”
His accent was almost unintelligible to Mac, but Mac understood one thing—Antoine wanted Georgia out of the hot seat, and it was Mac’s job to handle it. “I’m grateful to Officer Georgia Able for her service on the behalf of my banks and the people who work in them.” Mac formally shook Georgia’s hand.
Georgia looked up, her eyes suddenly full of tears. “She didn’t realize she would knock me down—”
Mac went on alert. “Who? Who knocked you down?”
Chief Cutter thrust himself between them. “I suppose you want to know what went wrong?”
“No. I want to see it.”
“Mr. Mac, I apologize.” Prescott’s security man walked up looking chagrinned and angry. “I had an itchy feeling that today was the day. I shouldn’t have gone to the bathroom.”
“When you gotta pee, you gotta pee.” Mac looked around. There was nothing to be done here. “Send the file to Mr. Prescott, and tell him to send it on to me.”
“Look, I need to review those tapes—” Chief Cutter began.
“And release them to the chief,” Mac added.
The chief opened his mouth to argue.
Mac fixed him with a cold stare. “You are not bargaining from a position of power.”
Chief Cutter shut his mouth.
Mac walked out the door.
Russell Whipple was in his bedroom, getting dressed for work, when the TV cha
nnel broke into Days of Our Lives with a bulletin.
The Beaded Bandits had robbed the Iberville Street bank.
He grinned.
Showtime.
Twenty-five
The sunlight flickered through the leaves of the great live oaks. The temperature hovered at a lovely seventy-two degrees. The rocking chair creaked as Nessa rocked back and forth, waiting on a porch of the Dahl House.
She didn’t wait long.
A cab pulled up. Her great-aunts, the bank robbers, slid out. They wore their usual clothes: pants with elastic around the waist, flowered tops, sensible shoes. Their makeup was nothing special: some foundation, a little blush, a light lipstick.
They were giggling.
Hestia spotted her as they strolled up the walk, and nudged Calista.
Calista nudged her back, then, typically, tried a bluff. “Nessa, darling! What are you doing home at this hour? Are you sick?”
With great deliberation, Nessa rose to her feet. “You saw me. You know exactly why I’m here.”
“We may have an idea, but why don’t you tell us for sure?” Hestia was cautious.
“Do you know what I thought when I ran into that bank and saw you two? And realized that my great-aunts were the Mardi Gras bandits? My respectable, old-fashioned, kind…” Nessa couldn’t find the words to express her horror.
The two women climbed the steps.
“We were hoping you didn’t recognize us,” Hestia said.
Nessa paced across the porch toward them. “…Waving guns!”
Calista turned to her sister. “I told you she did. Why else would she have knocked Georgia down?”
“In platform heels! Frightening people!” Nessa interjected.
“She could have tripped.” Hestia sank down on one end of the porch swing.
“She’s not usually clumsy.” Calista sat on a chair opposite.
“Robbing…robbing the bank I work for!” Nessa raged.
Both of the aunts focused on Nessa.
“That was the point, wasn’t it, dear?” Calista asked kindly.
Nessa’s tirade came to an abrupt halt. “What do you mean, that was the point?”
“That bank has been unfair to you!” Hestia said.