The NOLA Heart Novels (Complete Series)

by Maria Luis

  And just like that, her stomach bottomed out. She didn’t even have the chance to form a reply as the tour guide chose that moment to kick off the tour. The group swarmed her eagerly, much like the rabid mosquitoes that were out to feast on human blood tonight.

  “Welcome everyone!” the guide exclaimed boisterously. “My name is Zeia and I’ll be your tour guide tonight. Is everyone pumped to hear about some of the most haunted locations in the French Quarter?”

  The crowd whooped their approval, and Shaelyn turned to her young cousin to whisper, “I don’t have a way to find your dad, Jules. It’s not that I don’t want to, but—”

  “Mom says you’re dating a cop,” he interrupted in an equally hushed voice. “Can’t he help?”

  Dating a . . .

  Shaelyn shook her head. Julian must have overheard Anna talking to someone about how Shaelyn and Brady had dated in high school and gotten confused. “We aren’t together.”

  “Please?”

  In his thirteen years of life, Julian had never once asked for anything from Shaelyn. Although to be fair, she’d only seen him once before. He and Anna had visited her in New York City a few years back, but Shaelyn had always suspected that the trip had been more of a way for Anna to break free of New Orleans than a burning desire to reconnect with family.

  The pleading look on Julian’s face stripped the refusal from her tongue. The petulant teenager had been replaced with a boy who was asking, nearly begging, for any information on the man who’d birthed him. She didn’t want to go behind Anna’s back, but somehow she found herself opening her mouth and assuring him, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  A quick, fleeting smile broke out across Julian’s face before he focused on the tour guide. As Zeia spun a dark and gory tale about the public executions that had once taken place in Jackson Square, just to their right, Shaelyn thought of her own execution. She swore she felt the metaphorical noose being slipped over her bowed head.

  She’d come back to New Orleans to help Meme Elaine. Temporarily. Get her grandmother up and moving again. Then get the hell out of dodge. Now everything was feeling increasingly more permanent. This was not what she wanted. But how could she say no to Julian? When had she ever felt needed or, hell, even wanted by her family, aside from Meme Elaine?

  Shaelyn squeezed her eyes shut. Was feeling part of a family enough to voluntarily put herself back into the ring with Brady Taylor?

  She felt Julian’s hand slip into hers and squeeze once before quickly letting go.

  Apparently the answer was yes.

  8

  Less than twenty-four hours later, Shaelyn found herself standing on the front steps of NOPD Headquarters.

  She supposed she could have texted Brady on the cell number her grandmother had given her for him, but this was about business. Only business. Texting him might indicate she wanted something more . . . personal.

  Been there, bought the T-shirt, and lived to tell the tale.

  So, she’d stooped to stalking Brady at work.

  Shaelyn straightened her spine and marched up the stairs to the front door. Inside, groups of people milled about; some wore the pale blue NOPD button-down uniform, while others were decked out in street clothes. No one paid her any attention, no doubt mistaking her for a lost tourist.

  She definitely had the “lost” thing down pat.

  “You need help, Miz?”

  Shaelyn jerked toward the sound of the male voice. The cop was in his fifties, if she had to guess, and had kind but tired eyes. In the cradle of his left arm he carried a stack of manila folders; his right hand was settled on the butt of the gun in its holster. The black nameplate on his shirt read, “LT J. CARTWELL.”

  “Uh, yeah—I mean, yes.” She took a deep breath. You can do this—no biggie. Except that she was sort of betraying her cousin, whom Shaelyn genuinely liked. Think of Julian. “I’m looking for Detective Brady Taylor. Could you tell me where I might find him?”

  This time those kind eyes journeyed down the length of her body before parking it on her face. It was an assessing glance, the kind which blatantly asked, And who are you?

  Ex-girlfriend/lover/best friend. Add some slashed tires and a shotgun, and she could be the new Miranda Lambert/Carrie Underwood Spurned-Lover hybrid. Minus the crazy toned thighs and blown-out blond hair.

  “You’re lucky. He just got back maybe fifteen minutes ago.”

  Shaelyn wasn’t sure she considered herself lucky at all, but she nodded anyway. “Absolutely! What perfect timing.”

  Without another glance in her direction, the lieutenant pivoted away from the main lobby. As she hurried to catch up, her shoe squeaked, the rubber sole skipping against the marble floor.

  They turned down a fluorescent-lit hallway with 1970s wood-paneled walls, and had not even gone fifty feet before Cartwell stopped. Shaelyn only had a quick glimpse of a rectangular black placard with the engraved words, HOMICIDE DEPARTMENT, before the lieutenant edged the door open with an elbow. As if by some invisible string, her attention immediately narrowed in on Brady seated at a desk.

  Shaelyn swallowed.

  Lieutenant Cartwell stepped to the side. “Got a visitor for you, Taylor.”

  Blue eyes raked over her body with ambivalence. Good. That was . . . good. She didn’t want complications. Crowding her against a storefront with barely leashed desire in his eyes? Seductive Brady had “complicated” written all over him. She could take Indifferent Brady with her hands bound.

  Unless she started thinking about ropes and handcuffs and sexy times, in which case she was screwed. And not in the fun way, either.

  “Thanks, L-T,” Brady said. Not once did his attention divert from her.

  Lieutenant Cartwell shifted his weight, his gaze zeroed in on Brady at the desk. “Remember what I said about distractions.”

  Because that wasn’t subtle at all. Shaelyn watched the lieutenant leave, determined not to ask Brady what Cartwell had meant by “distractions.” Although she didn’t really have to ask—the lieutenant had been as subtle as a rampaging ox thundering around a delicate teacup set. He obviously thought she was up to no good.

  He’d be correct in that assumption.

  “Sit down, Shae.”

  Brady’s stern tone had her longing to flip him the bird. She refrained, just barely, and opted instead for adding an extra swing to her hips as she took the empty chair opposite his and quickly scanned the office.

  The room was Spartan. Not a single painting decorated the whitewashed walls, and a number of desks sat haphazardly around the space. Most were littered with papers and God-knows-what-else. The room itself was empty, with only her and Brady as its sole occupants. Had his coworkers gone for lunch and failed to invite him? The thought of Brady seated alone at his desk while everyone else had fun was oddly upsetting.

  “Shaelyn.”

  She finally looked his way and—

  Shaelyn blinked. He was wearing a suit. A navy-tailored pinstripe, which molded to his muscular frame and complimented his eyes. Forget the Floridian Gulf waters; right now the hue was identical to the hot-blue flame that burned near the wick of a candle. Feeling decidedly warmer than she would ever admit, Shaelyn shifted uncomfortably.

  “Can I help you?” he asked politely, fingers tapping an impatient tempo along the edge of his desk. “I thought we’d agreed to stop talking.”

  “You’re right,” she conceded, “I did say that.”

  The tapping stopped. Leaning back in his chair, Brady folded his arms across his chest. “And yet here you are anyway.”

  Truer words had never been spoken. Here she was, without a single plan on how to properly bring up Julian. She’d chosen the fly-by-the-seat-of-the-pants method with the hope that the words would just flow. Ha. Clearly she should have prepared herself a speech.

  Pull yourself together. Remember, you hate him.

  “I need your help.”

  There, it was out. She risked a peek to his face and was somewhat disappo
inted to find that not even the habitual tick in his jaw was twitching. Then the finger-tapping recommenced and she fought off a satisfied grin. She’d thrown him off his game.

  After a long pause, he drawled, “Trouble in paradise?”

  Ben. Realization struck that Miss Mary hadn’t informed her grandson that Shaelyn was “single” again. She should tell him the truth. Explain the whole sordid tale that rested at the feet of her meddling grandmother, who was (on a good day) bat-shit crazy. But the part of her that had already been humiliated one too many times in front of this man refused to face yet another embarrassment. And, just maybe, there was an itsy-bitsy part of her that wanted to strike back at him for hurting her all those years ago. It would be a petty move and she really, really shouldn’t.

  Shaelyn boxed up the guilt and mentally duct-taped it shut.

  “I guess you could say that,” she whispered, wringing her hands before her. “Me and Ben”—she sniffled for good measure—“we . . . ended things.”

  “This week.”

  He spoke so coldly that she knew he didn’t believe her. But she’d already started down this path. No turning back now.

  She lifted her gaze, starting at the knot of his gray tie and working up the thick column of his throat, the jut of his chin and the bridge of his crooked nose to his blue eyes. She felt the fire of the blue flames licking at her feet. Her gut warned her to back off. She squashed the guilt.

  Shaelyn pressed her hand to her throat, swallowing over the bundle of nerves that screamed, Shut up pronto, lady! “He’s been cheating on me. I never even knew it, but I-I went over to his house and found them together.”

  She continued in a wobbly voice, “Ben said that he still wanted to marry me. But he knows what I’ve been through”—with you went unspoken—“and I can’t. Being cheated on, the insecurities.” She looked him dead in the eye. “I ended it.”

  What a manipulative—

  Brady’s hands curled into fists.

  Up until now, Shaelyn’s M.O. for staging a fake engagement had been the missing piece of the puzzle. Except that he hadn’t considered one crucial aspect: that the engagement was nothing but a ruse to strike back at him.

  Had she been strategizing for this moment since returning to New Orleans?

  In the last week, he’d done his best to exorcise her from his thoughts. He had a job to focus on, a promotion he wanted. His cases desperately needed his attention and certainly weren’t solving themselves. Even if he’d caught himself driving past La Parisienne once or twice, Brady hadn’t stopped in. She’d said that there was no reason for them to even communicate, and here she was drudging up the past.

  He pressed a balled fist to his thigh and inhaled sharply through his nose.

  The way he saw it, he could tackle her presence in a few different ways. One, he could tell her to leave. Two, he could explain that he’d never cheated on her. And maybe, just maybe, if she hadn’t pulled the stunt she just had, and if she had just asked him, he would have hailed option two as the winner.

  It had been twelve years. They weren’t kids anymore, and he certainly wasn’t the same kid he’d been then. It was beyond time to bury the past.

  Or he could go for option number three, which was to ignore her shitty acting and focus on the fact she was here in his office after she’d explicitly said that they had no reason to keep talking.

  He took in her heightened blush, the way she fiddled with the strap of her purse. She was nervous, and yeah, he was going for option three for no other reason than the fact that he wanted her to know that she couldn’t taunt him—that she didn’t affect him.

  Liar.

  Brady dropped his forearms to the desk and steepled his fingers. His suit jacket strained across his shoulders, and he caught the way her gaze inadvertently followed the lines of his arms.

  And because of that, because he knew on some level he still got to her, he figured there was no use dabbling in the bullshit.

  “So, you need my help.”

  Fingers still worrying the purse strap, Shaelyn leaned back in her seat and feigned nonchalance. Feigned, because it was an awful attempt. Her posture was stiff, her jaw tense. Brady had interrogated criminals who had much more to hide with better Hollywood skills.

  He’d give credit where it was due, though, because despite looking like she was seconds from vomiting, Shaelyn’s voice didn’t waver. “I do,” she said evenly. Her gaze landed south of his chin. “Julian, Anna’s son—”

  “I remember Julian. You mentioned him the other day.”

  “Oh, you’re right. The thing is, he’s asked for my help, except . . . ” She raked her fingers through her riotous curls, then blew out a breath on a heavy sigh. “Honestly I don’t have the resources for what he needs. Which is why—”

  “Legal trouble?” Brady snagged a pen from the metal mesh cup on his desk and flipped his yellow legal pad to a fresh page.

  “What?” Shaelyn shook her head. “No. He’s not in any sort of trouble. He—”

  Brady twirled the pen in his right hand, and her eyes locked on the motion as if memorized. His hand clapped the Bic down on the desk with a sudden thwack, and her gaze—finally—jumped to his. “Then I’m not sure how I could help him,” he told her, “unless you want to enlighten me?”

  Mouth pursing, she grumbled something under her breath. Not for a second did he think it was complimentary. Then, “Let me finish a sentence, Brady, and I’ll explain.”

  He swept an arm in a sarcastically gallant motion for her to continue. It was necessary that he kept his wits about him around Shaelyn Lawrence. A week ago he’d been wondering if she still tasted the same as he remembered—like strawberries and summer. Meanwhile, she’d been operating with ulterior motives. And yeah, it stung more than he wanted to acknowledge.

  It was better for them both if she saw him as an unfeeling jerk than as the idiot who’d thought for one delusional moment that they might rekindle their romance.

  Brady watched her shoulders inch up as she took a deep breath.

  “I might as well be blunt here. Julian’s father never wanted him. I don’t know the details because my mama made sure Anna and I didn’t spend time together. She had this ridiculous notion that if we did, I might decide to jump on the pregnancy bandwagon.”

  He had an inkling of where Shaelyn was going with this, but felt compelled to point out, “We always used condoms.”

  A pretty blush colored her cheeks. “Yeah, well, Anna didn’t. Not that time, anyway. She’d been dating the guy for a bit, and I’m sure he spun her a pretty tale about how they were soul mates and that soul mates don’t have barriers. You know how it goes.”

  Brady did know how it went. There’d definitely been a few times in high school where he and Shaelyn had nearly tossed caution to the wind, but one of them had always reached for protection at the last moment. They’d been each other’s first.

  Since then, he’d never slipped up with any woman he’d been involved with. He was way too ambitious to deal with an unplanned pregnancy.

  Guess he was heartlessly pragmatic like that.

  He nodded, simply because he felt like she was waiting for a response.

  “They say it only takes one time, and I guess it was true for Anna. Found out she was pregnant when she started having really bad morning sickness. She tried to tell her boyfriend, but from what I understand, he freaked out and claimed Julian wasn’t his—classic move, by the way—and they broke up.

  “Anyway,” Shaelyn went on, “Anna had Julian, and now Julian—”

  This time Brady didn’t stop himself from filling in the missing blanks. “Now Julian is older and wants to know about his dad.”

  She offered a sad smile—the kind that halfheartedly lifted one corner of her mouth while the other remained flat. “Yes.”

  “And he wants you to find out who this shit-bag is.”

  “Bingo.”

  “And that’s why you want my help—because you have no way of finding t
his guy and you figured I might have some connections.”

  “Julian actually suggested it.”

  He fought to wrangle in his surprise. Picking up the pen again, he continued twirling. “Julian knows who I am?”

  That blush came rushing back with a vengeance. He didn’t recall her ever blushing so easily before. It made him wonder if her skin still turned pink in other, more secret areas . . .

  “Apparently he overheard Anna talking to someone about you being my boyfriend. I, uh, don’t think Julian connected the dots and realized that this was before his birth.”

  Brady froze, the pen stilling between his fingers. Did she realize the opening she’d just gifted him? Without allowing himself a moment for any second-guessing, he rose from his chair, rounded the corner of his desk, and settled his butt on the edge. The position eliminated the distance between them, and it didn’t take a genius to see how she shifted her legs to avoid touching him. Good. He liked knowing that he wasn’t the only one in this room struggling for control.

  “Didn’t Julian know about Beveau?” he asked as he braced his shoe’s sole on the lip of her chair’s armrest. Immediately she leaned in the other direction, her hands finding purchase on the opposite armrest. “Or was your engagement the secret, clandestine sort like on Maury?”

  “I introduced you to him, didn’t I?”

  She spoke in such an affronted clip that if he hadn’t known better, he would have believed her. Unfortunately for her, his job was to ferret out the truth. And he already knew she was lying.

  “You did,” he murmured softly.

  He watched her slender fingers curl around the armrest tightly. Shaelyn had never been a good liar and age obviously hadn’t helped at all. Part of him was pleased by the knowledge, even as he buried the emotion.

  Brady tugged at the jacket sleeve of his right arm, letting the material slide down before he repeated the process for his left side. Once removed, the jacket was tossed onto his desk. At the sight of the gun on his hip, Shaelyn hollowed her cheeks in surprise. He could practically see her mind buzzing, trying to figure him out.