A Father's Duty Read online

  “What do you know about my daughter?” Tanner demanded.

  Anger and desperation darkened his face. There was no doubt she’d hit a nerve.

  “Your daughter?” Georgette asked.

  “Don’t play games with me, Georgette. You come in here in your little power suit, flash a business card that says you’re from the D.A.’s office and ask me the same questions over and over.” He picked up her drawings and shook them in her face. “Now you show me a sketch of my missing daughter and some muscular thug.”

  “I had information you were linked to the young woman in the drawing, but I never realized—”

  “Is she in trouble?”

  “She could be….”

  His grip tightened on her arm. “Talk, Georgette!”

  “If I tell you the truth, you must promise never to tell a soul.”

  He exhaled sharply. “I’ll promise whatever you want. Just tell me how you know about Lily.”

  “I know because…” her voice faltered. “I know because I have the gift.”

  Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

  To chase away those end-of-summer blues, we have an explosive lineup that’s guaranteed to please!

  Joanna Wayne leaves goosebumps with A Father’s Duty, the third book in NEW ORLEANS CONFIDENTIAL. In this riveting conclusion, murder, mayhem…and mystique are unleashed in the Big Easy. And that’s just the beginning! Unauthorized Passion, which marks the beginning of Amanda Stevens’s new action-packed miniseries, MATCHMAKERS UNDERGROUND, features a lethally sexy lawman who takes a beautiful imposter into his protective custody. Look for Just Past Midnight by Ms. Stevens from Harlequin Books next month at your favorite retail outlet.

  Danger and discord sweep through Antelope Flats when B.J. Daniels launches her western series, MCCALLS’ MONTANA. Will the town ever be the same after a fiery showdown between a man on a mission and The Cowgirl in Question? Next up, the second book in ECLIPSE, our new gothic-inspired promotion. Midnight Island Sanctuary by Susan Peterson—a spine-tingling “gaslight” mystery set in a remote coastal town—will pull you into a chilling riptide.

  To wrap up this month’s thrilling lineup, Amy J. Fetzer returns to Harlequin Intrigue to unravel a sinister black-market baby ring mystery in Undercover Marriage. And, finally, don’t miss The Stolen Bride by Jacqueline Diamond—an edge-of-your-seat reunion romance about an amnesiac bride-in-jeopardy who is about to get a crash course in true love.

  Enjoy!

  Denise O’Sullivan

  Senior Editor

  Harlequin Intrigue

  A FATHER’S DUTY

  JOANNA WAYNE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Joanna Wayne lives with her husband in the perfect writer’s hideaway beside a lazy bayou, complete with graceful herons, colorful wood ducks and an occasional alligator. When not creating tales of spine-tingling suspense and heartwarming romance, she enjoys reading, traveling, playing golf and spending time with family and friends.

  Joanna believes that one of the special joys of writing is knowing that her stories have brought enjoyment to or somehow touched the lives of her readers. You can write Joanna at P.O. Box 2851, Harvey, LA 70059-2851.

  Books by Joanna Wayne

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  288—DEEP IN THE BAYOU

  339—BEHIND THE MASK

  389—EXTREME HEAT

  444—FAMILY TIES *

  471—JODIE’S LITTLE SECRETS

  495—ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS

  505—LONE STAR LAWMAN

  537—MEMORIES AT MIDNIGHT

  569—THE SECOND SON *

  573—THE STRANGER NEXT DOOR *

  577—A MOTHER’S SECRETS *

  593—THE OUTSIDER’S REDEMPTION

  606—BAYOU BLOOD BROTHERS “Jules”

  621—UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER

  639—ANOTHER WOMAN’S BABY †

  662—BEHIND THE VEIL

  675—MYSTIC ISLE †

  714—ATTEMPTED MATRIMONY †

  753—AS DARKNESS FELL **

  771-—JUST BEFORE DAWN **

  795-—A FATHER’S DUTY ††

  * * *

  THE CONFIDENTIAL AGENT’S PLEDGE

  I hereby swear to uphold the law to the best of my ability; to maintain the level of integrity of this agency by my compassion for victims, loyalty to my brothers and courage under fire.

  And above all, to hold all information and identities in the strictest confidence….

  * * *

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Tanner Harrison—New Orleans Confidential Agent who’s obsessed with finding his missing daughter.

  Georgette Delacroix—Junior prosecutor in the D.A.’s office. She’s dedicated to her work and determined to deny the gift passed down by her mother.

  Lily Harrison—Seventeen-year-old daughter of Tanner, who is running for her life.

  Juliana Lodge—Lily’s mother and Tanner’s ex-wife.

  Isabella Delacroix—Georgette’s voodoo priestess mother.

  Mason Bartley—Ex-con who is now a Confidential agent and Tanner’s partner.

  Becky Lane—Underage prostitute who supplies Tanner with information about Lily.

  Sebastion Primeaux—District Attorney who is sleeping with the mob.

  Jerome Senegal—Ruthless mob boss.

  Tony “The Knife” Arsenault—A mob enforcer who gets out of jail on missing evidence.

  Maurice Gaspard—Pimp who stays out of jail by killing anyone who’d dare testify against him.

  The Scorpions—South American rebels who’ve infiltrated the French Quarter.

  To everyone who loves New Orleans, a sultry city with history, mystique, excitement and a thousand faces, all uniquely its own.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  August in New Orleans was like a nasty disease that clogged your lungs and made you sweat from every pore in your body. It was near midnight now and still there was no relief from the heat or the humidity, especially not here on the edge of the French Quarter where the stench of stale beer, fried seafood and someone’s pot habit hung heavy in the air.

  Tanner Harrison had loved the inner city and the French Quarter once. He’d fed on its boisterous revelry, couldn’t get enough of the jazz, the food or the Big Easy attitude. That had been years ago. Now the area was like everything else in his life, a plague to be endured. But tonight desperation added a new element to his restless discontent. It rode his nerves like a hissing snake looking for somewhere to sink its fangs.

  Lily. Sweet, innocent Lily. Climbing onto his lap and cuddling into his arms for a bedtime story. Skipping through Hyde Park on a summer’s day, her tiny hand clutching his. Waving goodbye as he’d boarded plane after plane after plane, always turning at the last second so he didn’t see the tears sliding down her cheek and she didn’t see the back of his hand flick across his own wet eyes.

  Only Lily was no longer living in London with her mother. And his seventeen-year-old daughter was no longer innocent.

  His daughter was here in New Orleans, last seen turning tricks for Maurice Gaspard. Tanner had seen it all in a lifetime of law enforcement, but nothing had ever made him physically ill the way thinking of Lily like this did.

  He jerked to attention when he spotted a young woman running toward him, her high-heeled shoes bumping and scraping along the uneven sidewalk, her long blond hair flying behind her. Her skirt barely reached her thighs and her blouse was skin-tight, a bit of gauzy material that dipped low and revealed everything short of her nipples. He braced himself and studied her face as she came closer, looking for signs of the Lily he knew beneath the layers of makeup.

  It wasn’t Lily, but she wasn’t much older than his teenage daughter, and she was running scared. Tanner reached out and grabbed her arm as she rushed past him. She clawed at him with long, fake fingernails painted a bright red.

  “Let go of me.”

  “Right after we have a little talk.”

  She twisted to see behind her, then tried again to pry his hand from her arm. “I’m not working now, so get your rocks off with someone else.”

  “I’m looking for Lily Harrison.”

  “That’s your problem.”

  “I just made it yours, too. Lily Harrison. She’s seventeen, blond and pretty, with a British accent. I know she worked for Gaspard for a while.”

  “Seventeen. You’re sick, man. You know that? Sick. Leave the girl alone and get a life.”

  “She’s my daughter.” Tanner pulled out the picture of Lily, frayed and bent from being carried around in his sweaty pocket. He handed the photo to the woman, then tugged her under the streetlight so she could see the details. “This was taken six months ago. If you’ve seen her at all, I need to know where and when.”

  “I don’t know nothin’. So let go of my arm.”

  But Tanner figured she did know. Like the rest of Gaspard’s women, she was just too damned scared to talk. No one squealed on the sleazy, revengeful pimp.

  “Who are you running from?” Tanner demanded.


  “I’m not running. And if I was, it’s none of your damn business.” She threw in a few gutter words for emphasis. “Look, man. I don’t know your Lily, but there’s a young girl in that courtyard back there, and she’s hurt bad. If you want to do something, go help her, just leave me out of it. Please, leave me out of it.”

  “Which courtyard?”

  “Half a block down. You’ll see the break between the buildings. There’s an iron gate, but it’s not locked.”

  Tanner released his hold on the young woman, then took off running. He reached the gate in seconds, pushed through it and into a courtyard illuminated only by moonlight. The victim was lying in the middle of the enclosure, sprawled across the hot concrete, one leg dangling over a fountain that was dry and green with slime.

  Tanner knelt beside her and brushed the long, blood-matted hair from her face, then felt the breath explode from his lungs in relief when he realized the half-dead woman wasn’t his Lily.

  He checked for a pulse. It was weak, but it was there. He grabbed his cell phone and called for an ambulance. The young woman opened her eyes and stared at him.

  “Don’t…hit me. Please. Don’t hurt…”

  “I’m not the one who attacked you. Just lie still. There’s an ambulance on the way.”

  Her face was swollen two sizes too big, her arms were scratched and bleeding and there was a long gash running across her forehead, possibly made by the cracked flower pot that lay next to her.

  Tanner lifted the woman’s head. “Who did this to you?”

  “No one. I…fell.”

  “Like hell you did! Was it Gaspard?”

  She shuddered and closed her eyes without answering.

  “I’m looking for Lily Harrison. Do you know where I can find her?”

  She didn’t open her eyes or show any indication she could hear his pleas for information. Still he knelt beside her and monitored her pulse and labored breathing until the shrill cry of the sirens pierced the night.

  Tanner put his mouth close to her ear one last time as he heard the footsteps of the paramedics approaching. “Do you know a girl named Lily Harrison? She’s British.”

  The victim’s eyes fluttered open as if she were trying to focus, then rolled back in her head before closing again.

  “One word will do. I’m begging. Do you know where I can find Lily?”

  There was no answer. Tanner moved out of the way as the paramedics loaded her onto the gurney. He had his doubts she’d live to see the hospital.

  GEORGETTE DELACROIX jerked awake and sat up straight in bed, then grabbed the ringing phone. “Hello.”

  “Ms. Delacroix?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is Amos Keller.”

  It took her a second or two to place the name. “The ambulance driver?”

  “Yes, ma’am. You asked me to call you if I picked up another beating victim who appeared to be a prostitute.”

  Her pulse quickened. “Yes. Did you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Picked her up in a courtyard on Chartres Street.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “A few minutes ago, but if you want to see her while she’s still alive, you better hurry down here.”

  “I’ll be right there. Thanks for the heads-up on this.”

  “Glad to help. Whoever did this deserves to be locked away.”

  Georgette threw on a pair of slacks and a white cotton shirt, buttoning it as she slipped her feet into white sandals. After slapping some cold water on her face, she rinsed her mouth with antiseptic mouthwash and ran a brush through her dark hair. Good enough for a predawn trip to the hospital, she decided, not bothering with lipstick.

  Twenty minutes later, she was rushing through the emergency ward, looking for someone to point her to the right room. It was always faster than dealing with the admitting nurse and her legalese and protocol.

  “Code blue in room twelve. Code blue in room twelve.”

  Georgette dodged a nurse wielding a crash cart, then followed her to room 12. A man in jeans and a blue T-shirt stepped out of the room and Georgette slipped past him only to be ushered out by a thin, middle-aged nurse with a no-nonsense expression.

  “No visitors. Not now.”

  But the quick glimpse Georgette got of the activity in room 12 was enough to know that they were fighting desperately to save the life of a young woman who’d obviously been beaten. The clothes thrown over a hook were a good indicator that the woman had been working the streets.

  Georgette had no firm evidence to back up her suspicion that the skinny, weasel-looking pimp with hair that looked like black wire dipped in axle grease was responsible for this, but odds were that he was. All she needed was one breathing, talking, witness to help her take Maurice Gaspard to trial. Judging from the sounds coming from room 12, she wasn’t likely to get that witness tonight.

  She studied the man slouched against the wall opposite her, the man who’d come out of the victim’s room as she’d walked up. A friend? Or one of Gaspard’s flunkies sent to make sure the woman didn’t talk?

  Georgette sized him up quickly. Early-to mid-forties. A couple of inches over the six-foot mark. Hard-bodied. Thick, dark brown hair that could use cutting. A defiant stance.

  “What happened to your friend?” she asked, nodding toward the closed door to room 12.

  “She’s not my friend.”

  “So why are you here?”

  “I stumbled on her in the French Quarter after someone had beaten the hell out of her. I called the ambulance.”

  “And then you followed it to the hospital?”

  “Are you a cop?”

  “No.” She put out a hand, “I’m Georgette Delacroix, a prosecutor with the District Attorney’s office.”

  “You’re working a little after office hours, aren’t you?”

  “I was hoping to see the patient before she…”

  “Before she dies. You can say the word. It’s pretty obvious she’s fighting for her life in there.”

  “I know. I sincerely hope she makes it.”

  “Yeah.”

  The door to room 12 opened and the doctor appeared. “Is anyone here with the patient?”

  Georgette stepped up.

  “I’m sorry,” the doctor said. “We did all we could, but we lost her. She had massive internal hemorrhaging and severe toxic shock. Basically, her body just shut down.”

  “Were there bullet wounds?” Georgette asked.

  “No. She’d been hit over the head with a blunt object and severely beaten. I’m sure the police will do a full investigation. We’ll need someone to stick around and give them and the hospital some identifying information on the expired patient.”

  “I’m afraid I’m as in the dark about that as you are.” Georgette introduced herself and looked around for the man who’d been standing there a few seconds earlier. He was halfway down the hall, hurrying to the exit. She excused herself and chased after him.

  “I’d like to ask you a couple of questions,” she said, when she caught up with him.

  “Ask away,” he said, not slowing his pace.

  “Did the victim say anything to you when you found her?”

  “Yeah. She begged me not to hit her again. Evidently she was too out of it to realize I wasn’t the guy who’d attacked her.”

  “Exactly where did you find the body?”

  “In a courtyard on Chartres Street, river side, a couple of blocks off Esplanade.”

  “Do you live in that area?”

  “No.”

  “Work there?”

  “No. I was looking for someone. I found the victim instead.”

  “Did she mention her own name or anyone else’s name?”

  “No.”

  “Look, I don’t know why you were down there this time of the night, and right now I don’t really care. I’m not trying to prosecute you for soliciting or buying illegal drugs. I just need evidence to put the guy responsible for killing that young woman in jail.”

  “Isn’t that the police’s job?”

  “Of course, but…”

  “But you think you can do a better job of this than they can.”

  She exhaled sharply, venting her frustration. “I do my job a little differently than some prosecutors, but I’m not trying to usurp the NOPD’s authority or responsibility. I would like to have your name, just so I can contact you again if more questions come to mind.”