Haunted History:With centuries-old cemeteries, historic mansions, and mysterious legends, New Orleans is one of the most haunted cities in America, drawing ghost hunters and curious visitors alike.
“You knowwhere my father’s house is, right?”
“I do. Why are you staying there? Don’t you have your own place?”
She doesn’t answer immediately. Her fingers rest in her lap, knuckles pale where she’s pressing them together.
“After everything lately,” she says, “he’s not pretending anymore. He wants me where he can see me.”
I don’t like the way that lands. I don’t say that either.
I slow the car as I turn onto Audubon Place, easing off the gas like I’m approaching a checkpoint instead of a street I know well. The gate sits open this early, iron pulled back just enough to invite anyone foolish enough to test it.
“You don’t need to go in,” Coco says. “You can let me out here, and I’ll walk. His house is only a few houses in.”
“I’ll take you up,” I say. “It’s early.”
“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t.” She finally looks at me. “If you drive through that gate, it will get noticed. There are cameras and neighbors who treat curiosity like a hobby.”
“I don’t hide,” I say.
“I know,” she says quietly. “That’s why I’m asking you to stop.”
The house is visible now through the trees. Long drive. Lights still off. The kind of place that looks dormant even when it’s fully awake.
I slow to the curb just outside the gate.
“Last night,” she says, not looking at me, “wasn’t nothing.”
I feel that land. I don’t let it move me.
“It was a mistake,” I say.
Her head turns then. Just enough to look at me properly. “You didn’t act like it.”
I don’t answer her. She’s trying to bait me into something I don’t want to get into with her.
“And now?” she asks.
“Now I drop you off, make sure you get in safely, and we go our separate ways. You said you needed closure. That’s what last night was,” I say, rubbing a hand through my beard and turning to look out of the other window. “Before this turns into something we can’t walk back from.”
Her fingers tighten on the handle. For a second, I think she might push it. Push me. But she doesn’t.
She opens the door, steps out, and closes it with more force than necessary. Cool air slides in, sharp enough to cut through the lingering warmth in the car.
She doesn’t look back this time. It’s best this way.
I watch until she turns right and walks up the driveway of the third house in. I’m pretty sure that’s Laurent’s house. When she goes in through the garage, that confirms it.
I pull away.
Last night was not something I can repeat. Not with her or with the fallout it would cause. Want doesn’t outweigh consequence.
The phone rings before I make the turn.
“Stone,” I say.
“You awake?” Wells asks.
