Chapter Thirty-three

Rett

Nighttime enveloped the neighborhood, settling over the darkened streets of Desire. My pulse thumped as it raced through my veins, not from nerves, but the unmet desire to bring Emma’s kidnappers to justice and my wife home. The tips of my fingers tapped an undetectable rhythm on the armrest in the back seat of the SUV as Leon and I stared through the windows from our place in the shadows.

Twenty years ago, it would have been easier to remain less conspicuous or hidden in Desire. There was more here at that time—more people, more buildings, and more places to fade into. The population of this neighborhood had dropped exponentially over recent years.

Katrina was partially to blame.

It was too easy to blame all of New Orleans’s woes on that one hurricane. As I’d told Emma, she—Katrina—had a bum rap.