Night Fires

by Sandra Marton

  But this shabby, winding alley wasn’t one of them. It was dark, it was narrow and spooky. But it was safe.

  Her imagination was working overtime, thanks to the dark warnings of the federal prosecutor. Her life wasn’t a gangster movie. No one was going to come looking for her or try to hurt her. It was only the government people and the damned reporters who’d bothered her in the first place, both groups chasing blindly after headlines…

  ‘Watch it!’

  The shouted warning came from the end of the alley. Gabrielle looked up; her mouth opened in a silent scream as she saw the truck barrelling down on her. It was rocking from side to side as it tore through the narrow space, its chrome grill like the snarling mouth of an enraged animal. She saw the workman who’d yelled racing towards her, and then someone bowled into her, wrapped a powerful arm around her, and sent her flying out of the path of the truck and rolling towards the kerb.

  The wheels of the speeding vehicle hissed against the pavement inches from her head, and then it was gone, rumbling towards the mouth of the alley, picking up speed as it reached the street.

  For a moment, Gabrielle lay stunned. The man who’d thrown her to safety lay beside her, his arm still around her. Her face was pressed into the scratchy wool of his jacket; she felt the racing thud of his heart against hers.

  A terror greater than any she’d ever known swept through her and her whole body began to shake.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  He was speaking to her. She heard the question, heard the gruffness in his voice, and she wanted to answer, but speech was impossible.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ This time, she managed to shake her head. He rose slowly to his feet, drawing her up with him, cradling her against him. ‘Are you sure?’

  She nodded, then swallowed hard. ‘I… I’m all right.’ The voice didn’t sound like her own; it was high and breathy, but she was grateful she was able to speak at all. ‘Really,’ she said, more strongly now, ‘I’m OK.’ The man’s hands slid to her shoulders and he held her from him and stared at her. ‘You took quite a fall,’ he said.

  Gabrielle shook her head. ‘I’d rather fall than— than…’ The image of the truck roaring down on her came again, and a tremor went through her. ‘That truck almost—it almost…’

  His fingers bit into her and she winced. ‘Yes, it damned well did. What the hell were you doing?’ ‘Doing?’ she repeated dully. ‘Why, I was running. I was…’

  Her words fell into silence as she looked at the man who’d saved her life. Something cold and hard knotted within her breast. There was an intensity about him that was almost frightening. And his eyes—she couldn’t see his eyes. They were hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. Somehow, the glasses lent him a sinister air.

  Gabrielle swallowed drily. ‘You can let go of me now,’ she said, forcing a stiff smile to her lips. ‘I’m fine. Really. And I… I’m very sorry about all this.’

  A muscle moved beside his mouth. ‘Yes,’ he said coldly, ‘so am I.’

  Gabrielle stared at him. If only she could see his eyes, she thought. But all she could see was her own pale reflection.

  His grasp tightened and she stumbled as he drew her towards him. ‘That truck could have run you down and kept on going,’ he said softly. ‘Do you know that?’

  She felt the blood rush from her face. ‘Listen,’ she said in a hurried whisper, ‘you’d better just get out of

  here. You’d better ’

  ‘Hey, lady—you OK?’

  The gruff voice startled them both. The stranger’s hands slid from her shoulders as Gabrielle turned around. The workman who’d shouted the warning to her was staring at her.

  She nodded. ‘Yes. I’m fine. Thank you for ’

  The workman shrugged. ‘Thank this guy, not me. He moved pretty fast. If he hadn’t knocked you out of the way…’

  She looked at the man blankly. He’s right, she told herself. This man saved your life, he wasn’t threatening you.

  The workman cleared his throat. ‘I tell that no good Cajun all the time to watch out, I tell him this ain’t no raceway, but he don’t listen.’

  Gabrielle stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The kid driving the truck, miss. He’s a good boy, he don’t mean no harm. Please, you leave him to me. I take care of him.’

  The kid driving the truck. The alley, so dark moments before, suddenly seemed flooded with sunshine. Gabrielle threw her head back and laughed.

  An accident, she thought; it was just an accident. And of course the man who’d saved her life was upset. Just look at his muddied jacket and his trousers.

  She smiled at the workman. ‘That’s fine with me. You just tell him to be more careful, hmm?’ The man touched his hand to his cap and trotted towards the mouth of the alley. Gabrielle turned to her rescuer and stuck out her hand. ‘Thank you for what you did. If it hadn’t been for you…’

  He hesitated, then took her hand in his. ‘No problem,’ he said easily. ‘I’m just glad I was here, Miss—Miss…’

  ‘Shelton. I’m Gabrielle Shelton.’ She smiled at him. ‘I’m glad you were here, too.’

  He laughed softly. ‘I’m sorry I had to hit you so hard.’ He drew his hand from hers and touched her bare forearm. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have a couple of nasty bruises by tomorrow.’

  Gabrielle looked at her arm. His fingers were long, the skin tanned, the nails clean and square-cut. Except for the red scrapes and smudges of dirt from the gutter, her flesh seemed pale beneath them. She watched as his hand moved down her arm, then closed around her wrist. For some unaccountable reason, a tremor went through her again. It seemed to take great effort to lift her eyes to his face.

  ‘Bruises are a small price to pay for one’s life,’ she said.

  ‘You’re very lucky, Miss Shelton. It isn’t very smart to jog in a place as deserted as this.’ He was still smiling, but it seemed forced. And there was a sudden edge to his voice. ‘Anything could have happened.’

  Gabrielle’s smile faded. ‘But it didn’t,’ she said. She pulled her hand from his and pushed a lock of damp hair from her face. ‘Look, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your concern. But I can take care of myself. I’m

  tired of being told to be careful. I ’

  She broke off in confusion. She’d said more than she’d intended; the look on the stranger’s face told her that. Suddenly, to her surprise, he smiled.

  ‘Yes,’ he said softly, ‘I’ll bet you are.’ She watched as he lifted his hand and drew off his sunglasses. ‘And I can’t say I blame you.’

  She drew in her breath as their eyes met. She’d never seen eyes the colour of his, she thought as she stared at him. They were a pale blue, like pieces of the spring sky,

  the irises darkly outlined by a border as black as the pupils.

  ‘You’re shaking,’ he said suddenly, and she realised with surprise that he was right. He pulled off his grey tweed jacket and draped it around her shoulders, his hands brushing lightly against her.

  ‘I don’t really need that,’ she said. But she did; she felt the warmth of the jacket as it closed around her. Without realising it, she clasped the lapels and drew the heavy wool fabric around her.

  The stranger looped his arm around her shoulders. ‘Look,’ he said as he began walking her slowly towards the end of the alley, ‘we got off to a bad start. Why don’t you let me make up for it?’ He smiled at her. ‘I don’t know very much about New Orleans, Miss Shelton, but I do know they brew some great coffee. Why don’t I find us a cab? We can go to your home and I’ll wait while you shower and change, and then we’ll go have some cafe au lait and some of those terrific doughnuts ’

  Gabrielle smiled up at him. ‘Beignets.’

  The stranger grinned. ‘Right. Beignets. And then you can show me your city. How does that sound?’

  Tempting. It sounded tempting. She had avoided people for so long, afraid that everyone wanted something from her, afraid, too, of nameless things
engendered by the mind-games the federal prosecutor had played. And this man was—he was so handsome. No, not handsome really, not in any conventional sense— there was almost too much blatant masculinity in his chiselled features and his well-muscled body.

  But Alma was waiting for her at the shop. Besides, she wasn’t ready for this. Not yet. Not while she could still think a careless boy was part of a dark plot; not when a stranger’s kindness made her suspicious.

  They reached the street and Gabrielle paused and looked up at the man beside her. ‘Thank you, but I’m afraid I have to say “no”. It’s a working day for me.’

  He smiled, and his eyes moved slowly over her. ‘Dressed like that?’

  Gabrielle laughed. ‘I keep a change of clothes at my flower shop,’ she said, ‘and I’m late already, Mr— Mr…?’

  ‘Forrester. James Forrester.’ A quick smile curved across his mouth. ‘How about a raincheck, then?’

  She shook her head again. ‘Sorry. I—ah, there’s a taxi,’ she said quickly, raising her hand to call it to the kerb. ‘I feel terrible about your jacket and trousers, Mr Forrester. I’m afraid I’ve ruined them.’

  He put his hand on hers as she began to pull his jacket from her shoulders. ‘Don’t,’ he said quickly. ‘Keep it, I mean, so you don’t catch a chill.’

  The touch of his hand blazed through her with the speed and heat of a meteor. Gabrielle stared at him, then swallowed.

  ‘I—I couldn’t,’ she said softly. She swallowed again, then ran her tongue over her dry lips. ‘You don’t even know me.’

  He smiled. ‘I’ll come by for it in a day or two.’ Gabrielle swallowed harder. ‘It’s an expensive jacket,’

  she said foolishly. ‘How can you just ?’

  His eyes met hers. ‘That’s true,’ he said softly. ‘I guess I’ll just have to take something in trade.’

  His fingers laced through hers and he moved towards her. Before she could stop him, he bent to her and kissed her, his mouth settling on hers with a gentleness that made her heart stop beating. The ground seemed to shift beneath her feet as she felt the quick, sweet brush of his tongue against her lips.

  She heard herself make a soft cry against his mouth and felt herself sway against him. His hand tightened on hers, the press of his fingers almost painful, and then he stepped back and released her.

  ‘Take care of yourself, Gabrielle,’ he whispered.

  She put her fingers to her mouth, half expecting to feel the heat of his kiss lingering there. Then, before he could say anything more, she snatched open the door to the cab and scrambled inside.

  James Forrester bent down, leaned into the driver’s half-opened window, and stuffed some bills into the man’s hand.

  ‘Take the lady to La Vie en Rose. It’s the flower shop around the corner from Jackson Square.’

  It was hours later when Gabrielle realised she had never told James Forrester the name of the shop she owned.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Gabrielle hung up the telephone, counted to ten slowly, then turned towards the rear of the flower shop. She watched as Alma put the finishing touches to an elaborate centrepiece of long-stemmed roses, ferns, and baby’s breath, and then she cleared her throat.

  ‘Is that the last of the altar displays for the Delacroix wedding?’

  Her assistant looked up. ‘Almost. I’ve just two more to do, and…’ She stared at Gabrielle and shook her head. ‘Don’t tell me. That was the caterer. Mrs Delacroix’s changed her mind again.’

  Gabrielle smiled ruefully. ‘I’d love to say you’re wrong, but…’

  Alma sighed and pushed a pale strand of hair from her eyes. ‘What is it this time? Are we back to orchids?’

  ‘No, it’s still roses. White ones, though. Will we have enough?’

  ‘No. But, if I were you, I wouldn’t order any more for an hour or two.’ Alma made a face as she began stripping the red roses from the centrepiece. ‘That’s about how long it’ll take Mrs Delacroix to change her mind again. Honestly, Gabrielle, you’re goin’ to have to learn to put your foot down with these people. If you don’t…’

  Gabrielle sighed. ‘I know,’ she said, as she took a vase of white roses from the refrigerated case. ‘You’re absolutely right. But I’m still trying to expand the business, Alma. Once I’ve done that, I won’t be so easy.’

  Her assistant gave her a sideways glance. ‘If you were half as tough with Mrs Delacroix as you woe with that nice man…’

  Gabrielle looked up sharply. ‘James Forrester? Has he called again?’

  Alma shook her head. ‘No. But then, why would he? Three calls in two days, and you haven’t returned one of them.’

  ‘I’ve been busy.’

  The other woman sighed. ‘I wouldn’t be too busy to talk to a man who sounded like that. Is he as handsome as he sounds?’

  Gabrielle felt her assistant’s inquisitive eyes on her. ‘I really didn’t notice,’ she said sharply. ‘The next time he calls, tell him I’m away.’

  ‘He won’t believe me, Gaby. As it is, each time I tell

  “Why are you so determined to avoid me?” 1

  SANDRA MARTON 1

  ‘This is not China. Saving someone’s life doesn’t mean you’re responsible for that person forever.’

  Gabrielle’s tone had been sharper than she’d intended, but Alma only smiled.

  ‘Is that what they believe? Seems a nice custom to me.’

  Gabrielle blew out her breath. ‘Look,’ she said patiently, ‘I met this man in an alley in the Quarter. It’s not as if we were introduced at a party or something.’

  Alma snipped off a length of fern. ‘He saved your life. I should think that makes up for the lack of a proper introduction.’ She looked up. ‘Besides, you couldn’t have met at a party. You don’t go to parties.’

  ‘Alma…’

  ‘Or to dinners or charity function or…’

  Gabrielle sighed as she opened the refrigerated case and took out another vase of roses. ‘I’ve been busy. You

  know that. I’m new here, and ’

  ‘All the more reason to get out and meet people,’ her assistant said firmly. ‘I have never seen a woman more determined to avoid a social life than you.’

  ‘That’s nonsense. I ’

  ‘It’s as if you have a fence around you and nobody can get past it. You get that funny look on your face each time someone tries.’

  Gabrielle looked up. ‘What look?’ she demanded.

  ‘That look,’ Alma said triumphantly. ‘The same one you’re wearin’ now, the one that says, “Stop—don’t go any further, I don’t want to know you and I’m not about to let you know me”.’

  A flush rose to Gabrielle’s cheeks and she turned away, busying herself with the white roses.

  ‘That’s crazy. Just because I’m not a social butterfly…’ ‘Whatever happened to you back in New York, to make you so distrustful of people?’

  Gabrielle stared at the other woman. What would happen if she told her? What if she said, ‘I’m not who you think I am, Alma. I’m Gabrielle Chiari, not Gabrielle Shelton, and I’ve been used by everyone in the past six months, the authorities and the Press and…’

  ‘ You’ve no reason to dislike Mr Forrester. He saved your life, Gaby.’

  He had, yes. But he’d also known the name of her flower shop. Alma would tell her there was a perfectly rational explanation for it, and there probably was. But still …

  ‘Suppose he hadn’t been in that alley? Have you thought of that?’

  Of course she had. And then she’d wondered why he’d been in the alley in the first place. Tourists didn’t frequent such places, not so early in the morning.

  Angry tears rose in her eyes. What had Townsend and his people done to her? The world, or her perception of it, had become ugly and twisted. Suddenly, the need to confide in someone was almost overwhelming. Her eyes met Alma’s, and it was as if the older woman could read her thoughts. Her pretty face creased in compassion.
/>   ‘Gaby,’ she said softly, ‘if you need a friend to talk to, I’m here.’

  A friend. Had she ever had one? There’d been acquaintances, yes, girls she’d gone to private school with, and then others she’d worked with. But always there had been a barrier between them.

  ‘Her dad works for Tony Vitale,’ she’d once heard a classmate whisper to another. ‘Can you believe it? And she seems so nice…’

  The youthful voice had been filled with awe, stumbling to silence when Gabrielle had stepped into view. That weekend, at home with her father in the little house they’d shared behind Vitale’s bigger one, she’d hesitantly repeated what she’d heard, then asked what it meant. Her father’s face had darkened and he’d put his arm around her.

  ‘Your Uncle Tony is a powerful man, Gabriella,’ he’d said in his careful, halting English. ‘Men such as he are often misunderstood.’

  ‘But—but is he a bad man, Papa? That girl

  sounded ’

  Her father had shaken his head. ‘In the old country, no one would ask such a question. Of course he isn’t; would his union make him its leader if he were bad?’ Her father’s expression had softened and he’d hugged her to him. ‘Your little friend is only repeating the lies the newspapers print.’

  ‘Gaby?’ She blinked as Alma’s soft voice brought her back to the little flower shop. ‘What is it? You can tell me.’

  Can you believe it? And she seems so nice… Gabrielle drew a shaky breath. ‘What I can tell you,’ she said with a quick smile, ‘is that you’re a southerner and I’m a northerner. And if northerners are just naturally suspicious, New Yorkers are positively paranoid.’

  An answering smile curved across the other woman’s mouth, but her eyes were watchful. ‘So I’ve noticed,’

  she said. ‘But Mr Forrester ’

  Gabrielle’s smile tilted a little. ‘Look, I just don’t want to get involved with anybody now. You can understand that, can’t you?’