So, where did that leave her tonight? “Uncle Winston?”
He sighed, likely knowing by her tone she did have one teensy-weensy little favor to ask. “What do you want, Stace?”
“Is there any way you can wangle one more invitation for me for tonight’s event?”
After he got through shouting about how she’d wasted the first golden ticket he’d managed to get for her, he quieted. “I really wish you’d rethink going back, especially after that waiter’s death.”
“But you have one.”
“Just one.” He groaned. “Your dad is going to kill me.”
“He’ll never know. Swear. Cross my heart, hope—”
“Don’t finish that!”
“Thanks, Uncle Winnie.”
“Gah. You haven’t called me that since you last sat on my knee. You’ve already got the ticket. You don’t have to butter me up.”
“Love you! I’ll email Emil before he leaves the building to drop by your office.”
“It’ll be with Beth. I’m leaving now. I need a drink.”
She gave him a loud, smacking kiss and ended the call. Then she headed to her closet.
Twenty minutes before the night’s Mardi gras themed event, Stacia took one last glance in her compact before folding it and dropping it into her Chanel bag. Her makeup was over the top—porcelain-white powder, deeply rouged lips and cheeks, smoky purple eyes. They went perfectly with the dark purple, satin mini dress with its stark white jester’s collar, silver bells attached to the ends of the “petals”—the clingers removed so she didn’t jangle. Her purple hose were opaque, but sparkled, and her purple heels were covered in rhinestones. She was perfectly “festive” with her floppy, pointed hat covering her hair.
“Do you think the third time’s gonna be the charm?” Emil asked, handing her the ticket he’d picked up from Winston’s office assistant.
“They’re all going to know who I am, so I don’t think I’m going to get a thing out of the bigwigs, but I’m just going to observe, and maybe talk to some of the staff. Maybe I’ll get a lead about what happened to Billy.”
Emil shook his head. “I think that’s a really bad idea.”
“Think so?” she asked, patting the sides of her hair.
“Know so.” He held up his camera. “Me, I’m hopin’ for another crotch shot.”
Stacia rolled her eyes. “Gross. Think your mama’s gonna be proud?”
“When she saw the shot in the Enquirer, she bought all the copies in the grocery store.”
She laughed. “Well, go make your mama proud.”
“Be safe,” he said, all humor draining from his face.
“I will. Promise. See ya.”
She exited the van and walked as quickly as she could in three-inch heels toward the entrance. When she strode down the red carpet, she couldn’t help reflecting it wasn’t nearly as much fun as sneaking in back doors.
Once inside the lobby, she glanced around. The crowd was thin. She noted who was there—no one of interest. Mostly hangers-on and admin types she’d already met. She might as well get a drink now, since she’d be busy working for the rest of the night.
As she moved toward one of the server lines, she couldn’t help glancing around, looking for Remy.
Instead, she found the big guy, the one built like a football player, who’d knocked on the “Staff Only” room door the night before. He was staring at her, his dark eyebrows lowering. Although she had a ticket in her purse, she still felt her nerves begin to dance. So, she lifted her chin and gave him a little wave.
Her little show of bravado must have seemed like an invitation, because he began to make his way toward her. “Oh boy.” She hoped her ticket was going to be enough to keep her from being shown the door.
As he drew near, he shook his head. “I can see why Remy likes you,” he drawled.
“Oh? Remy?”
“Yeah, that Miss Innocence act won’t work with me. I knew it was you under that red wig last night, padding and all. A little Mardi Gras paint can’t fool me.”
“I’m not trying to fool anyone…tonight.” She wrinkled her nose. “Were you the one who sicced him on me last night?”
“Yup.”
“Spoilsport.”
“But only because it was kinda fun watchin’ him track you like a basset hound all around that party.”
“Are you comparing me to a dog?”
He narrowed his eyes.
She laughed. “Seriously, you two must be related.” She waved a hand in front of her face. “You have the same stare.”
“He’s my little brother.”
“Little?” She glanced at his broader torso. “I guess, if you say so.”
“You know you shouldn’t be here.”
She patted her purse. “Tonight, I’m official. I have a ticket.”
“And you know I’m not talkin’ about that.”
“Oh. You mean because…”
“Yeah, we got bigger fish to fry tonight. Don’t need you trompin’ all over a crime scene.”
“Think anything else is going to happen?”
He shrugged. “Someone smart, who didn’t have to be here, would’ve found some other story to follow.”
She lifted her chin. “You saying I’m not smart?”
He held up both hands. “I’m talkin’ hypotheticals here. No insult intended.”
“Sure, you are.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Remy’s not gonna be happy seein’ you here.”
“I think you’re wrong. Remy likes that I’m stubborn. He knows full well I never had any intention of staying away.”
“Remy’s gonna be…distracted.”
“Am I the distraction?” When he didn’t do more than raise his eyebrows, she decided she’d had enough of this line of conversation, so she segued. “So, you’re his big brother…?”
“Uh-huh.”
She waited a second then raised her eyebrows. “You gotta name?”
“Thibaut Cyr.”
She held out her hand.
Reluctantly, he reached for hers and shook it. “Do you think you could be a little less obvious when you’re eavesdroppin’ on conversations no one wants you to hear?”
She gave him a wide smile. “Just like I told Remy—I’m not making any promises I can’t keep.”
He shook his head. “Then you’re a rare woman.”
“Be sure to tell your brother that.” And then because she was pretty sure he hadn’t just been having fun with her before he booted her out, she turned and walked away, knowing full well Thibaut would be quick to pass along the news that a certain reporter had once again infiltrated the convention center.
A smile stretched across her face, and her step felt light as she moved to the bartender and asked for a Cosmo.
“Bro, she’s here.”
Remy cussed softly. “Where?”
“In the pavilion, drinkin’ somethin’ fruity-lookin’.”
“She in disguise, again?”
“Harlequin makeup, but you should recognize her this time, seein’ how much time you been spendin’ with her.”
“Remy?” Ballard’s voice came over the comms.
Remy grimaced. “On it. Her, I mean.” Nodding to a couple of his teammates who offered him wide smiles, he moved away, leaving the side of the building where catering staff had been bringing in carts, which had to be checked before they rolled into the kitchen.
Five minutes later, he entered the large, open conference pavilion. He quickly scanned the area, noted the open bars, the wait staff circulating with trays of champagne and wine. She wasn’t hard to find since the area was only half-filled. Her attention was on the main entrance and the people still streaming through the doors.
He came up beside her. Her lips twitched, so he knew she was aware he was standing there.
With a lazy hand, she tapped her purse. “Ticket’s inside. Need to check it?”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Do you?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Takes less imagination to lie. I’m not lazy.”
He snorted. No, she wasn’t. “Thought I told you to stay away.”
Her sideways glance was flirty. “What can I say?” she said, her hand waving in an airy way. “There’s something I find completely…irresistible, here.”
A loud snort sounded in Remy’s ear. Likely coming from Thibault. He reached up and turned off his earpiece. “Are you at least gonna keep outta trouble tonight?”
“I’ll do my best. I plan to be here when the doors close.”
He nodded toward the entrance where Mayor Hugo Benoit was entering, smiling and waving for the press. Lights flashed, and Remy caught a glimpse of Stacia’s cameraman through the glass doors. He was squeezed against the ropes. “Think Hugo’s gonna have something to say about you bein’ here?”
“So long as I don’t act all reportery, he’ll ignore me. He and my dad go way back. I used to sit on his knee.”
Remy glanced at the portly man and wrinkled his nose.
“It was a long time ago,” she said, her tone dry. “I was five.”
“Whew.”
She elbowed his side. “Stop. Hugo’s not so bad when he’s not preening for an audience.”
“So, you just standin’ here, scopin’ out your next target?” he murmured.
“I got to thinking…”
“Oh. Should I be nervous?”
She rolled her eyes. “I can’t think of any legitimate guest who would have done that to Billy. So, it had to be someone who isn’t supposed to be here. I thought I could see who entered through the front door, and then watch the crowd tonight to see who doesn’t belong.”
He nodded, admiringly. She was smart. “We have guys watching the monitors, doing the same thing.”
“But do they have eidetic memories?”
“Do you?”
She shrugged. “Close to.” She waved her bag. “And I remember what I hear, as well, so I don’t have to take notes. Can’t fit a notepad in this little thing.”
“You are constantly surprising me.”
Her smile stretched as she shot him a glance. “Well, while we’re sharing compliments, you haven’t bored me…yet.”
He pulled at his collar. “Guess I need to up my game.”
She laughed. “Look, I know you have work to do. A killer to find, and all. I’ll be fine here. I promise I won’t get into any trouble,” she said, using a red-manicured fingernail to cross her heart.
Remy glanced around then quickly bent and kissed her cheek. “Be good.”
When he left, Stacia was still smiling. Turning back to the last of the guests walking through the doors, she hoped, against her own interests, that nothing happened this night, because she had plans for Remy later, which included a long soak and a chilled bottle of wine…
Her Bluetooth hummed, and she reached up to tap the device.
“I seen you flirtin’ with that cop.”
Stacia grinned and glanced through the thick plate glass at Emil outside. She gave him a little wave. “So, what are you gonna do once everyone’s inside?”
“I brought my dinner—red beans and rice with half a muffuletta. Thought I’d watch another couple episodes of Criminal Minds.”
“Sounds like that’ll be more fun than what I’m doing,” she muttered, watching yet another entourage from some Middle Eastern nation stride through the doors. “What season are you binging now?”
“Four.”
“At this rate you should finish by Christmas,” she said cheerfully.
He groaned. “Don’t. Just don’t.”
“You gonna be blue when you reach the last episode, just like you were when you finished Chuck?” she teased.
“I can’t help I’m a sensitive man. I was blue ’cause the ending of Chuck was just sad. She forgot them. She was just sittin’ on the beach with him, close enough he could hold her, but he was a stranger. After all they’d been through.” He sniffed loudly in her ear.
“Well, maybe you should slow down. Settle on watching one episode tonight. I’d hate for your Christmas to be spoiled by an unsatisfying end.”
“Mm-hmm. Tease me all you want. I’m just learnin’ all kinds of things that’ll help you when you move to the news desk.”
“You’re sacrificing yourself watching Criminal Minds, for me? That’s so sweet!” She chuckled. “So, how’d the red carpet go?”
He gave a loud sigh. “No crotch shot tonight. Britney did give me a wave. I think she knows I was the one who took that picture. She gave me great profile as she glided by like an angel.”
“Meaning you got a great shot of her boobs?”
“Money shot, babe. A little nip—”
“Stop.” Her chuckles were full-on laughter now, and people were looking at her. “Gotta go.”
“That’s right. Get to work. Don’t let me hear you spent the night in some utility closet with a certain New Orleans Pol—”
“Gotta go. Bye!” She tapped her Bluetooth again and waved one last time at Emil. Finding an empty utility closet didn’t sound like such a bad idea…
Chapter 9
As she had the night before, Stacia stuck to the periphery of any groups forming to listen in on the conversations flowing around her. Thankfully, the meal was a banquet inside one of the ballrooms off the pavilion, which meant no set table arrangements, and most people stood with small plates in their hands anyway as they moved from one influential circle to another.
She hadn’t discovered any dirt. Just hints of company sales and buyouts in the works that she thought she ought to remember to mention to her daddy. Mostly, attendees complained about the humid weather and the lines at the popular restaurants. She wanted to roll her eyes every time she heard that one. Why hadn’t they made reservations or set this conference in Siberia instead of New Orleans?
Then there were the complaints about the sewer smells, the terrible art and sleazy psychics in Jackson Square, the trash and vomit on the street.
Stacia loved the little kiosks in Jackson Square where local vendors came to set up and make a buck off the tourists. And these snooty men knew nothing about the way shop owners got up in the early morning hours to wash the sidewalks and streets in front of their establishments. They said nothing about the energy of the city that kept it as vibrant, day or night, as New York City but much “cozier, warmer” than that behemoth.
And they complained about the food!
So, maybe she was tired and getting grumpy. The night was dragging on. That utility closet was sounding better and better, but she had yet to snag Remy’s attention.
That was when she saw someone she recognized. Someone who hadn’t come through the front doors with a ticket.
The blond man she’d bumped into the night before with the ice-cold glare.
Stacia tried pretending she wasn’t moving closer, but when his gaze scanned the room, he caught her looking. She promptly lost her nerve, gave him a vacuous smile, then glanced away—at Hugo, and she called out to him.
So, maybe she wasn’t the right person to investigate the man who gave her shivers—oh, and not the kind Remy gave her. These were the kind that left her cold inside. Made her think of Hannibal Lecter making those sucking sounds as he talked about eating a man’s liver with fava beans.
As she moved toward Hugo, she surreptitiously looked around the room, trying to find Remy in the crowd. He should know about the blond man. As luck would have it, his dark head showed above most in the room, but he was moving toward a corridor, frowning as he left.
“Stacia,” Hugo said, tilting his head as he gave her a pointed look.
“I’m behaving, Uncle Hugo. Promise. Just wanted to say hi.” She went up on tiptoe and gave him a quick kiss. Then with another vacuous smile, she headed toward the corridor where she’d last seen Remy.
Once there, she didn’t see him, but she did hear voices ah
ead and above. He must have gone to the offices located on the mezzanine floor. She skipped the escalator and skimmed up the stairs, following the sound of deep voices coming from an open doorway.
When she glanced inside, she noted that Justin Ballard was there, along with Thibaut and Remy. All three were standing behind two men seated in front of a row of security monitors. One of the seated men glanced to the side and saw her. His frown should have had her backing away, but she really needed to tell someone about the man downstairs.
Ballard’s head swung her way. “Miss Rice? You shouldn’t be here. At all.”
She drew a deep breath then bit her bottom lip. She really didn’t want to say this in front of all of them, because if she was wrong and the blond man was some German billionaire, she’d look silly.
Remy glanced her way, and a small frown formed a line between his brows. “Stace, what he said. Not now.”
Not now? Who did he think he was? Her dad? She gave him an icy frown then turned back to Justin. “A man who somehow skipped the line coming inside is in the ballroom.”
The five men looked at her, their expressions blank.
“I recognized him from last night. He’s got a really cold stare.”
She realized her explanation for her concern sounded a little inane, but with them all staring at her like she was a kid who’d just opened her parents’ door while they were making love, all she could do was glare back. A natural response to so much irritation, she thought. “He doesn’t belong.” Her gaze went to Remy. “I told you I was looking for someone who didn’t belong. Well, I found one.” Then because he still hadn’t budged, and her anger was beginning to rise because she’d thought he actually respected her, she turned on a heel and hurried away.
Maybe it had been the harlequin makeup. She looked like a clown. No wonder they hadn’t taken her seriously.
“Stacey, hold up!”
Oh, so now he wanted to talk, when all his friends weren’t looking at her like she was a silly little fluffy reporter. She walked faster.
“Wait!”
A hand caught her upper arm, and she stopped. With her expression mulish, she turned to him. “What?”
One Hot Night: A New Orleans Nights Story Page 7