Shadows (Bayou Magic 1)

Before he opens the door, Cash turns to me. “Let me do the questioning.”

“I will.”

He opens the door, but when we step inside, the office is empty.

“Over here,” Asher says from behind us, gesturing for us to follow him. “She’s in a more comfortable office. She’s scared shitless.”

“Catch us up,” Cash says as we follow Asher down a long hall.

“She came in, crying and asking for help. She was out with friends and said a guy dragged her out of a bar on Bourbon. You can ask her some questions, as well. I don’t know much more than that, she’s only been here about fifteen minutes.”

Cash nods, and we follow Asher into a small lounge. There are several comfortable chairs, one sofa, and a kitchenette that boasts coffee and little else.

It’s definitely more comfortable for a scared girl than Asher’s official office.

“Hi, my name is Cash.” He approaches the girl with authority but does so gently. He squats in front of her, not too close, and doesn’t try to touch her. The girl cries softly. “What’s your name?”

“Shelly,” she whispers. “Shelly Diaz.”

“You’re a brave woman, Shelly,” Cash says, surprising her. “I’m proud of you. I’m sure you’ve already told Lieutenant Smith what happened tonight, but I’d like for you to tell me, as well. Take a deep breath and think it through. We need you to be as descriptive as possible so we can find this person.”

“This all feels really extreme,” Shelly says with a frown. “I mean, I thought I’d give a statement, but I don’t know much. Drunk dudes must assault girls on Bourbon every single night.”

“I’m sure they do,” Cash says, nodding at the girl as he shifts the chair next to hers to face her, then sits in it. “But there’s someone out there kidnapping and killing women.”

Her eyes round, her hands clench, and all of the blood drains from her face.

“Holy shit.”

“You might be the one person who can help us figure out who this bastard is, Shelly. So, we really need you to be as descriptive as possible.”

“Holy shit,” she says again and takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Well, I didn’t get a good look at him. The place was dark, and I was standing at the bar, waiting for a drink. Some guy came up to me and asked if I was having a good time. Told me I was pretty. It happens all the time, and that’s not my ego talking, it’s just the truth. Like I said, guys hit on girls in bars every night.”

“I understand,” Cash says. “Keep going.”

“So, I didn’t reply to him, just nodded. I didn’t even look at him because I wasn’t interested in being friendly with some strange dude. I have a boyfriend back home.”

“Are you on vacation?”

“Yeah.” Her lip quivers. “I’m here with some friends from Dallas. We drove over because I’d never been here before, and we wanted to have some fun.”

“Go on,” Cash urges.

“I didn’t say anything, I just nodded. Then, this guy kind of pulls on my elbow, I guess to get my attention, I don’t know. So I said, ‘Look, mister, I don’t want to talk to you.’ Sometimes, you just have to be blunt to make them go away, especially if they’ve been drinking. And, well, you know how it goes.”

“Sure,” Cash says.

“The next thing I know, he’s tugging me through the bar to the exit. He’s got a vise-grip on my arm, and he’s just yanking me.” Her lip quivers again. She lifts the sleeve of her top, revealing bruises just above her elbow. “I was yelling, but it was so loud in there. And crowded. There were people all around, but he told them we were just having a fight, and that he was taking me out where we could talk rationally.”

“What a jerk,” Asher mutters, catching Shelly’s attention.

“He was more than a jerk,” she says. “I’ve taken self-defense classes, and I knew that the worst thing I could do was let him get me alone or leave that bar.”

“Good girl,” Cash says. “You’re absolutely right.”

“I didn’t think he was trying to take me, I thought he was trying to rape me. I’ve been raped before, at a party in college, and let me tell you, he didn’t scare me so much as he pissed me right off. No man is ever going to do that to me again. Ever. So I fought back. But he was really strong. Like, way stronger than he looked.”

“What did he look like?” Cash asks.

“He’s not really that tall,” she says, thinking it over. “Not much taller than me, I’d say. He has gray in his hair, and he’s a white guy.”

“A middle-aged white guy,” Asher says. “Can you narrow it down a bit? Did he have any scars or tattoos?”