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wily as a bayou fox. His white hair contrasted sharply with black brows that arched over intelligent eyes the color of antique pewter. He had a loud voice, a quick laugh and eyes that didn’t miss a beat, no matter how subtle.
    John recognized the shrewdness behind those Southern gentleman eyes, and he knew that while Benjamin Wainwright might look like someone’s favorite uncle, he hadn’t gone from minister to the head of one of New Orleans’s largest religious organizations on his charm alone. Behind all that Old South charm lay a cunning man who knew how to get what he wanted and didn’t mind stepping on toes to get it.
    He wondered what the hell Wainwright wanted with him.
    “I was sorry to hear about the trouble you had up in Chicago.” Wainwright pumped his hand. “If there’s anything I can do . . .”
    John felt the words like a slap, but he didn’t flinch. Two months had passed since he’d pulled that trigger and killed a fellow cop, but not a moment went by that the incident didn’t eat at him. “I’m fine,” he said.
    Glancing through the display window of the Book Merchant, Wainwright lowered his voice. “I need you your help with a problem. You remember Julia, don’t you?”
    John remembered enough about her to know he didn’t want to be here. “Sure.”
    “Well, some troubled individual has been sending her letters.”
    “What kind of letters?”
    “Vague threats. Strange stuff. Enough so that I became concerned.”
    “Are these letters coming through the U.S. mail, or what?”
    Wainwright grimaced. “Claudia told me the latest was hand delivered.”
    “Did she go to the police?”
    “She filed a report, but you know how that goes. The NOPD has one of the highest murder rates in the nation. They’re spread pretty thin. They don’t have the manpower to do much but drive by the shop a couple of times a week. That’s not enough to suit me.”
    “It sounds like she’s doing everything she can.”
    Wainwright’s face went taut. “I’m afraid those letters might have more to do with me than her.”
    John got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Why do you think that?”
    “You’ve heard the old adage, don’t talk about politics or religion?”
    John nodded, wondering where the conversation was heading.
    “I break both rules. My position with Eternity Springs Ministries is more political than ever these days. The national convention is being held here in New Orleans next month. There’ve been whisperings of a faction of the church breaking away.”
    “Because of where you stand?”
    “I’m a conservative, and some people don’t like my stance on certain issues.”
    “You think someone from the church is behind the letters?”
    Wainwright shrugged. “Could be someone trying to distract me or trying to get me to pull out.”
    “Seems like a roundabout way to do that.”
    The old man’s expression remained troubled. “The truth of the matter is I’d never forgive myself if Julia was hurt because of me.”
    “What exactly do you want me to do?”
    He leaned close, his eyes taking on a diamond-hard glint. “I want you to find out who’s sending those letters and put a stop to it.”
    “Mr. Wainwright, with all due respect, I’m not sure I’m the right man for the job.”
    “I’d feel better about this if someone of your caliber were keeping an eye on her.”
    John didn’t have anything to say about his caliber. “To be honest with you, I was thinking about heading out to the cabin to do some fish—”
    “I’ll let Julia fill you in on the details.” Wainwright plowed past him and started toward the door. “I suspect she’s going to be stubborn about this.”
    “I can’t imagine where she got that,” John muttered under his breath.
    Wainwright grinned at him over his shoulder. “Her mama, of course.”
    As John followed Wainwright through the front door of the shop, he assured himself he could handle this. A quick look at the letters. A canned speech