Buried Too Deep (A New Orleans Novel, Band 3) - Softcover

Rose, Karen

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0593638603 ISBN 13: 9780593638606

Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group, 2025

Inhaltsangabe

From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Karen Rose comes another explosive novel in the New Orleans series, where some secrets are worth dying for--or killing to keep.

Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead.

Employed as the nighttime security guard of Broussard Investigations, Phineas Bishop has been working through overwhelming PTSD episodes from his army service while still utilizing his military skills. But when a violent break-in occurs at the office, the accusatory eyes of the NOPD are on Phin, and he resolves to track down the intruder and clear his name.

Phin's only lead is Cora Winslow, a spirited librarian who also needs answers. The body of her father, murdered twenty-three years ago, has just been discovered under a recently demolished building. So who has been sending her handwritten letters--written and signed by her father--every year since she was five? Someone wants to keep Cora in the dark. And now, they're coming for her.

As Cora's self-appointed bodyguard, Phin is surprised by his growing fondness for the woman and her fierce determination and research prowess. But New Orleans's Garden District holds secrets as old as the streets themselves. With help from the entire Broussard P.I. team, Phin and Cora enter a labyrinth of fraud and homicide that threatens to bury them all.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Karen Rose is the award-winning, #1 international bestselling author of more than twenty-five novels. She has been translated into twenty-three languages, and her books have placed on the New York Times, the Sunday Times (UK), and Germany's der Spiegel bestseller lists. She lives with her husband in the Pacific Northwest.

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1

The Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana

Tuesday, December 13, 8:01 a.m.

Twenty-three years later

Phin Bishop stumbled to a stop, staring up at the building that was as close to a home as he'd known in a long time. It wasn't the building itself, of course, although it was beautiful with its cast iron balconies and its shutters thrown wide in welcome.

Even to me. He hoped.

Because the magic of the building wasn't in its bricks or balconies. It was in the people who worked within its walls. Burke Broussard and his people had become Phin's family.

But I deserted them. I ran.

No. He could hear the voice of his therapist in his mind. You didn't "run." You have PTSD. You left to get better.

But was he better?

Am I ready to be back?

A hand closed over his shoulder, warm and reassuring. "Phin?" Stone O'Bannion murmured. "We can come back tomorrow. Or we can get SodaPop. This is exactly what she's trained for. Helping you through situations just like this."

Swallowing hard, Phin turned to meet his best friend's eyes and saw understanding and compassion that Phin didn't think he deserved. Stone was right. Phin should have brought his new service dog. But he hadn't, wanting to stand on his own two feet.

Which had been wrong thinking. He knew that. Knew that there was no shame in needing a service dog. No shame in having PTSD. He'd accepted that. Accepted that he'd have episodes. That he'd sometimes relapse.

SodaPop made it easier to stave off his episodes. Helped him recover faster when he did relapse.

And you deserve that help. Those words were again in his therapist's voice. Phin could accept that there was no shame in needing his dog. But he hadn't been able to accept that he deserved the assistance. And that was the real reason he'd left SodaPop behind this morning.

"That we could come back tomorrow is what you said yesterday," Phin said. And yesterday, he'd jumped at the chance to turn tail and run.

He'd been running most of his life.

"And I'll say it tomorrow and the next day." Stone gave his shoulder a squeeze. Anchoring him. "What are you afraid of? Be honest with me."

Phin forced the words out. "That they won't want me back."

"If they don't, it'll hurt," Stone acknowledged, and Phin was grateful that Stone hadn't brushed his concerns away. "But I read their texts." Phin had given Stone permission to read all the communication from his New Orleans friends. "These people care about you. They will want you back."

"What if I flake again?" He hated losing control of his own mind, hated the spiral that tugged him under.

Stone shrugged. "Then you leave, you heal, and you try again."

Phin's chest hurt. "I'm so tired of leaving."

"Then stay. Take a step. Right now. There you go. Now another. That's the way."

Phin forced his feet to move closer to the building that housed Broussard Investigations. "I should have stopped for beignets."

Stone chuckled, clearly not fooled by the lame procrastination attempt. "I'll get some for you. Once you're inside and talking to your friends."

The building grew closer and Phin's chest grew tighter. "Why are you still here? Babysitting me?" He was grateful. He was. But he didn't entirely understand why Stone put up with him. "You have better things to do."

"No, I don't. Right now, I'm exactly where I need to be, doing what I need to do. Because you need me. And because I've been where you are. Someone stuck by my side until I could walk alone." Phin knew Stone's story. His friend had been an addict, sober for years now. "So I'm paying it forward, doing it for you. Keep walking, Phin."

They were nearly at the front door. Just another fifteen feet.

Then the door burst open, banging into the wall behind it. Startled at the sound, Phin lurched back, once again grateful for Stone's steadying hand. When he'd righted himself, he got a glimpse of the woman who'd thrown the door open. She wore a gray hooded cloak that hid her face, but a wisp of black hair escaped the hood to whip in the wind. For a moment, Phin stood stock-still, staring as she rushed away, heading toward the center of the Quarter.

The only part of her body that was visible was her legs.

They were very nice legs. Her calves were perfectly defined, thanks to the three-inch heels she wore. How she was able to walk in heels that high-much less run-was a mystery.

She took an abrupt left at the next intersection and disappeared from view.

"Who was that?" Stone asked.

"I don't know." He'd never seen her before. He'd remember legs like that.

Importantly, her appearance had stopped the mental spiral of his anxiety. Sometimes a distraction was exactly what he needed to get his head on straight.

That's what SodaPop's supposed to do, you idiot.

Fine. Next time he'd bring her along.

"Did she come from your office?" Stone pressed. "From Broussard Investigations?"

Phin stilled. She hadn't been a woman with nice legs. She'd been a fleeing woman with nice legs. "Shit."

The sound of two gunshots, one right after the other, shoved his body into motion, and he started to run.

"Joy." She'll be alone. Because she was always the first in the office.

"Joy's the office manager?" Stone asked, running beside him. "The lady who uses a wheelchair?"

"Yes." Phin bypassed the ancient elevator and took the stairs. He'd told Stone about everyone in Burke's office. He cared about them all, but Joy was special. She'd accepted him from the beginning. Taken him under her wing. Mothered him. Trusted him. "Ex-cop. Got shot on the job. Paralyzed from the waist down. Tougher than she looks."

She'd be okay. Joy could take care of herself, he told himself, propelling himself up the last few stairs in a single leap.

They rushed from the stairwell into Burke's lobby. It was an open space with large windows along one wall that faced the street below. Joy's desk would be in the dead center of the room and she'd be sitting behind her computer, doing whatever it was she did every morning. She'd give him a look that was both chiding and welcoming.

Just like all the other times he'd returned from having run.

Except . . . she wasn't behind her desk.

"Oh no." Phin's heart went from a gallop to a dead stop.

Because Joy lay on the floor next to her desk, her wheelchair on its side. Her white blouse was rapidly becoming red with blood and she wasn't moving.

"No," he gasped, racing to her side. "Call 911."

"Already on it," Stone said grimly.

Phin pressed his fingers to Joy's throat, searching for a pulse. She was a petite woman, barely five foot two. But she was strong, emotionally and physically. She could not be dead.

His shoulders sagged when he felt a faint pulse. But his relief was short lived when he saw the blood pooling beneath her head. Wounds to her head and heart.

"Fuck!" Stone snapped, and Phin spared him a glance. His friend had the big window open and was half hanging out of it. "Yes, I'm sure," he was snarling at the 911 operator. "There's a man running from this building. Dressed in black. Ski mask covering his face. He's headed north."

The same direction in which the woman had fled.

Later. Phin ripped off his coat, then pulled his T-shirt over his head and pressed it to her chest since that wound was bleeding more profusely. Her entire blouse was now soaked.

"Joy." He fought for calm. Took deep breaths, just as his therapist had taught him. "It's Phin. Stay with me."

The clatter of running feet had him looking up in time to see two uniformed cops rushing toward him. Guns drawn.

"Back away from her," one commanded.

"You, by the window," the other snarled, "put down the phone and put your...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2025
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593638603
• ISBN 13: 9780593638606
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 528
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: BERKLEY; https://www.penguin.com/?s=BERKLEY; ; Unit 2 Limavady Business Park; Limavady; County Londonderry; BT49 0HR; Vereinigtes Königreich
• Verantwortliche Person: preigu; mail@preigu.de; ; Lengericher Landstr. 19; Osnabrück; 49078; Deutschland