Even so, something was missing. I moved here to set up my new identity and my new shop. But I wasn't kidding myself, Lincoln was the reason I chose New Orleans. I wanted to feel close to him, even though he was still in New York City prosecuting Lester DiSalvo. I followed the case closely, enjoying every tidbit of dirt that came out on the younger mafioso.
I kept up with the whole fiasco, the tabloids headlining the "return of the king" as the elder DiSalvo was set to land in New York and support his "unfairly maligned" son at trial. Lincoln had even managed to make some charges stick against Leon without the help of my files. Or maybe my files helped, but DiSalvo would never be able to prove that's where Lincoln got his information. The look on Leon's face when he was arrested at LaGuardia was enough to warm even my sad heart.
He made bail in short order but disappeared on his way back to the Four Seasons. A good deal of his blood was found in the car, leaving no doubt as to his fate. The media had a ball with the "what happened to the mob kingpin" stories.
Not long after, I received an express package from New York with a "for Ms. Angel's eyes only" notation on the outside. Inside were three of the most delicious cannoli this side of heaven and a note in Sal's stark scribble: Come back and see me anytime, bella. It's safe now.
I imagined Sal, and maybe some of Vinnie's cousins, putting a vicious hurt on DiSalvo. It didn't feel like justice, exactly, but for the first time since I'd fled New York, I felt some semblance of safety. Not home free enough to let anyone in on my secret; I still kept my head down, my nose to the grindstone. But I didn't look over my shoulder quite as much. And I didn't let fear rule me. I enjoyed New Orleans, the French Quarter, the river. I was a solitary wanderer. I imagined that Lincoln had walked along the same paths, had eaten in the same restaurants at some point in the past.
Lincoln was making a name for himself. He was already moving up into the big time. Talk was buzzing around the city that he was a shoe-in to be the next U.S. attorney for the New Orleans region. Wood was the figurehead in charge of the Castille cases, but the news stories always quoted Lincoln and Jonesy. They were on the front lines, scrapping it out in court on a daily basis, fighting to keep the pressure on many of my former clients.
Castille had fallen quickly. Once Vinnie jettisoned him, the prick caved and accepted a plea deal. He turned state's evidence and was Lincoln's star witness. I might have been a wanted woman, but Castille couldn't walk outside without fearing a sniper bullet.
Even though I kept up, I was far removed. New Orleans was my home now. I felt like there was a piece of Lincoln here that I could keep close. And the city was big enough so that we'd never cross paths. I referred out any federal cases and stuck to the state courts. That all but guaranteed we'd never meet. Making sure I never saw him again hurt like a bitch. Even so, this was the way it had to be. I had to let him go, for his own good, more than anything else. That's what I told myself, anyway, on the warm afternoons that turned into twilight as I sat in my creaky porch swing and watched the streetcars roll by.
Lincoln wasn't here with me, but I still felt him. He was in my heart for good and always, even though I'd resigned myself to living without him. Somehow, I was less lonely knowing he was out there somewhere.
I actually ran into Kennedy at the state courthouse once. I thought it was Lincoln at first, standing with his back to me. My heart leaped, and I fought the urge to run to him, to just throw my papers down and jump into his arms in front of the clerk's office. Then Kennedy turned toward me and I saw the deep brown of his eyes and his high cheekbones that were a perfect match to Wash's. I knew instinctively that he and Lincoln were brothers, both men tall, handsome, and built solid. Kennedy was gorgeous, but not the one my heart sought. He gave me a rakish wink before stepping into the clerk's office and out of sight. It took me a few weeks to recover from that day. Even now, I still wished it had been Lincoln standing there.
Would Lincoln even know me now that I'd dyed my hair blond and changed my ways? Now that I wasn't the bad bitch? Well, maybe I was still a little bad, but nothing like my former glory. I had flipped the coin, choosing the shiny side for once and for all. I would never slide back down into the pit of fear that had ruled my life for far too long. I sometimes imagined Lincoln would have been proud of my choices.
Honestly, I would have spent all my time imagining the life I could have had with him. But it hurt too much. So I buried myself in my work, and for the first time, I actually felt rewarded after a long day at the office. That odd feeling let me know I was doing the right thing. I often wondered if the right thing would ever come naturally to me again, the way it did to Lincoln.